<?t  DESCRIPTIVE  g 

*iy.ANALYSES»b# 

OF  PIANO  WORKS 


EDWARD  BAXTER  PERRY 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 

MR.   E.D.   NUNN 


iOlAINlIC  r^USIC  CO. 

32S  E.  MASON  ST. 
MILWAUKEE   2,  WTS. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/descriptiveanalyOOperriala 


J  Its  8 

DESCfilPTIVE  ANALYSES 

OF  PIANO  WORKS 

FOR  THE  USE  OF  TEACHERS, 
PLAYERS,  AND  MUSIC  CLUBS 


EDWARD  BAXTER  PERRY 


PHILADELPHIA 
THEODORE   PRESSER   CO. 

tONDON.  WEEKES  &  CO. 


COFYRIOHT,  190a.  BY  Theodore  Pressbr 


INTBRNATIONAL    COPYRIGHT 


Prdttbd  in  TBS  United  Statss  of  Aummjca. 


My  Keys 


I. 

To  no  crag-crowning  castle  above  the  wild  main, 
To  no  bower  of  fair  lady  or  villa  in  Spain  ; 
To  no  deep,  hidden  vaults  where  the  stored  jewels  shine, 
Or  the  South' s  ruddy  sunlight  is  prisoned  in  wine  ; 
To  no  gardens  enchanted  where  nightingales  sing, 
And  the  flowers  of  all  climes  breathe  perpetual  spring : 
To  none  of  all  these 
They  give  access,  my  keys, 
My  magical  ebon  and  ivory  keys. 

II. 

But  to  temples  sublime,  where  music  is  prayer. 
To  the  bower  of  a  goddess  supemally  fair  ; 
To  the  crypts  where  the  ages  their  mysteries  keep, 
Where  the  sorrows  and  joys  of  earth's  greatest  ones  sleep  ; 
Where  the  wine  of  emotion  a  life's  thirst  may  still. 
And  the  jewels  of  thought  gleam  to  light  at  my  will : 
To  more  than  all  these 
They  give  access,  my  keys. 
My  magical  ebon  and  ivory  keys. 

III. 

To  bright  dreams  of  the  past  in  locked  cells  of  the  mind, 
To  the  tombs  of  dead  joys  in  their  beauty  enshrined ; 
To  the  chambers  where  love's  recollections  are  stored, 
And  the  fanes  where  devotion' s  best  homage  is  poured ; 
To  the  cloudland  of  hope,  where  the  dull  mist  of  tears 
As  the  rainbow  of  promise  illumined  appears  ; 
To  all  these,  when  I  please. 
They  give  access,  my  keys, 
My  magical  ebon  and  ivory  keys. 

iii 


Only  an   Interpreter 


The  world  will  still  go  on  the  very  same 
When  the  last  feeble  echo  of  my  name 
Has  died  from  out  men's  listless  hearts  and  ears 
These  many  years. 

Its  tides  will  roll,  its  suns  will  rise  and  set, 
When  mine,  through  twilight  portals  of  regret. 
Has  passed  to  quench  its  pallid,  parting  light 
In  rayless  night, 

While  o'er  my  place  oblivion's  tide  will  sweep 
To  whelm  my  deeds  in  silence  dark  and  deep. 
The  triumphs  and  the  failures,  ill  and  good, 
Beneath  its  flood. 

Then  other,  abler  men  will  serve  the  Art 
I  strove  to  serve  with  singleness  of  heart; 
Will  wear  her  thomed  laurels  on  the  brow, 
As  I  do  now. 

I  shall  not  care  to  ask  whose  fame  is  first, 
Or  feel  the  fever  of  that  burning  thirst 
To  win  her  warmest  smile,  nor  count  the  cost 
Whate'er  be  lost. 

As  I  have  striven,  they  will  strive  to  rise 
To  hopeless  heights,  where  that  elusive  prize, 
The  unattainable  ideal,  gleams 

Through  waking  dreams. 


vi      Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

But  I  shall  sleep,  a  sleep  secure,  profound. 
Beyond  the  reach  of  blame,  or  plaudits'  sound ; 
And  who  stands  high,  who  low,  I  shall  not  know : 
'Tis  better  so. 

For  what  the  gain  of  all  my  toilsome  years, 
Of  all  my  ceaseless  struggles,  secret  tears? 
My  best,  more  brief  than  frailest  summer  flower, 
Dies  with  the  hour. 

My  most  enduring  triumphs  swifter  pass 
Than  fair}'^  frost-wreaths  from  the  window  glass: 
The  master  but  of  moments  may  not  claim 
A  deathless  name. 

Mine  but  the  task  to  lift,  a  little  space. 
The  mystic  veil  from  beauty's  radiant  face 
That  other  men  may  joy  thereon  to  see, 
Forgetting  me. 

Not  mine  the  genius  to  create  the  forms 
Which  stand  serenely  strong,  thro'  suns  and  storms, 
While  passing  ages  praise  that  power  sublime 
Defying  time. 

Mine  but  the  transient  service  of  a  day. 
Scant  praise,  too  ready  blame,  and  meager  pay: 
No  matter,  though  with  hunger  at  the  heart 
I  did  my  part. 

I  dare  not  call  my  labor  all  in  vain. 
If  I  but  voice  anew  one  lofty  strain: 
The  faithful  echo  of  a  noble  thought 
With  good  is  fraught. 

For  some  it  cheers  upon  life's  weary  road. 
And  some  hearts  lightens  of  their  bitter  load. 
Which  might  have  missed  the  message  in  the  din 
Of  strife  and  sin. 


Only  an   Interpreter  vii 

My  lavished  life-blood  warmed  and  woke  again 
The  still,  pale  children  of  another's  brain, 
Brimmed  full  the  forms  which  else  were  cold, 
Tho'  fair  of  mold. 

And  thro'  their  lips  my  spirit  spoke  to  men 
Of  higher  hopes,  of  courage  under  pain, 
Of  worthy  aspirations,  fearless  flight 
To  reach  the  light. 

Then,  soul  of  mine,  content  thee  with  thy  fate, 
Though  noble  niche  of  fame  and  guerdon  great 
Be  not  for  thee:  thy  modest  task  was  sweet 
At  beauty's  feet. 

The  Artist  passes  like  a  swift -blown  breeze, 
Or  vapors  floating  up  from  summer  seas; 
But  Art  endures  as  long  as  life  and  love: 
For  her  I  strove. 


Contents 


FAGB 

Introduction 1  i 

Esthetic  versus  Structural  Analysis 15 

Sources  of  Information  Concerning  Musical  Compositions, . .  23 

Traditional  Beethoven  Playing, 32 

Beethoven :  The  Moonlight  Sonata,  Op.  27,  No.  2, 45 

Beethoven:  Sonata  Path^tique,  Op.  13, 50 

Beethoven :  Sonata  in  A  Flat  Major,  Op.  26, 55 

Beethoven :  Sonata  in  D  Minor,  Op.  31,  No.  2, 61 

Beethoven :  Sonata  in  C  Major,  Op.  53, 64 

Beethoven :  Sonata  in  E  Minor,  Op.  90, 68 

Beethoven:  Music  to  "The  Ruins  of  Athens," 72 

Weber:  Invitation  to  the  Dance,  Op.  65, 81 

Weber:  Rondo  in  E  Flat,  Op.  62 86 

Weber:  Concertsttick,  in  F  Minor,  Op.  79, 90 

Weber-Kullak:  Lutzow's  Wilde  Jagd,  Op.  Ill,  No.  4, 93 

Schubert:  (Impromptu  in  B  Flat)  Theme  and  Variations, 

Op.  142,  No.  3, 99 

Emotion  in  Music, 105 

Chopin:  Sonata,  B  Flat,  Op.  35, 1 13 

The  Chopin  Ballades, 118 

Chopin:  Ballade  in  G  Minor,  Op.  23, 123 

Chopin:  Ballade  in  F  Major,  Op.  38, 130 

Chopin:  Ballade  in  A  Flat,  Op.  47, 137 

Chopin:  Polonaise,  A  Flat  Major,  Op.  53, 142 

Chopin:  Impromptu  in  A  Flat,  Op.  29 147 

Chopin:  Fantasie  Impromptu,  Op.  66, 149 

Chopin:  Tarantelle,  A  Flat,  Op.  43, 152 

Chopin:  Berceuse,  Op.  57 156 

Chopin:  Scherzo  in  B  Flat  Minor,  Op.  31 158 

Chopin:   Prelude,  Op.  28,  No.  15, 161 

ix 


X  Contents 

PACB 

Chopin:  Waltz,  A  Flat,  Op.  42 168 

Chopin's   Nocturnes, 1 72 

Chopin:  Nocturne  in  E  Flat,  Op.  9,  No.  2, 174 

Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  27,  No.  2, 176 

Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  32,  No.  1 179 

Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  37,  No.  1 183 

Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  37,  No.  2 186 

Chopin:  Polish   Songs,   Transcribed   for   Piano   by  Franz 

Liszt, 191 

Liszt:  Poetic  and  Religious  Harmonies,  No.  3,  Book  2,.  . . .  194 

Liszt :  First  Ballade, 199 

Liszt :  Second  Ballade, 201 

Transcriptions  for  the  Piano  by  Liszt 203 

Wagner-Liszt:  Spinning  Song  from  "The  Flying  Dutch- 
man,"    205 

Wagner-Liszt :  Tannhauser  March 208 

Wagner-Liszt :    Abendstern 209 

Wagner-Liszt :  Isolde's  Love  Death, 210 

Schubert-Liszt :  Der  Erlkonig 213 

Schubert-Liszt:  Hark!  Hark!  the  Lark 216 

Schubert-Liszt:  Gretchen  am  Spinnrad 217 

Liszt :  La  Gondoliera, 219 

The  Music  of  the  Gipsies  and  Liszt's  Hungarian  Rhapsodies,  222 

Rubinstein:  Barcarolle,  G  Major 237 

Rubinstein:  Kamennoi-Ostrow,  No,  22, 241 

Grieg:  Peer  Gynt  Suite,  Op.  46, 247 

Grieg:  An  den  FriihUng,  Op.  43,  No.  6 257 

Grieg:  Voglein,  Op.  43,  No.  4 260 

Grieg:  Berceuse,  Op.  38,  No.  1, 261 

Grieg:  The    Bridal    Procession,    from    "Aus    dem    Volks- 

leben,"  Op.  19,  No.  2 264 

Saint-Saens:  Le  Rouet  d'Omphale 271 

Saint-Saens:  Danse  Macabre, 276 

Counterparts  among  Poets  and  Musicians, 281 


DESCRIPTIVE 
ANALYSES  OF 
PIANO    WORKS 


Introduction 


HE  material  comprised  in  the  follow- 
ing pages  has  been  collected  for  use 
in  book  form  by  the  advice  and  at 
the  earnest  request  of  the  publisher, 
as  well  as  of  many  musical  friends, 
who  express  the  belief  that  it  is  of 
sufficient  value  and  interest  to  merit 
a  certain  degree  of  permanency,  and 
will  prove  of  practical  aid  to  teachers  and  students  of 
music.  A  portion  of  it  has  already  appeared  in  print 
in  the  program  books  of  the  Derthick  Musical  Liter- 
ary Society   and   in   dififerent   musical   journals;  and 


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1 2     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

nearly  all  of  it  has  been  used  at  various  times  in  my 
own  Lecture  Recitals. 

The  book  is  merely  a  compilation  of  what  have 
seemed  the  most  interesting  and  valuable  results  of 
my  thought,  reading,  and  research  in  connection  with 
my  Lecture  Recital  work  during  the  past  twenty  years. 

In  the  intensely  busy  life  of  a  concert  pianist  a 
systematic  and  exhaustive  study  of  the  whole  broad 
field  of  piano  literature  has  been  utterly  impossible. 
That  would  require  the  exclusive  devotion  of  a  life- 
time at  least.  My  efforts  have  been  necessarily  con- 
fined strictly  to  such  compositions  as  came  under  my 
immediate  attention  in  connection  with  my  own  work 
as  player. 

The  effect  is  a  seemingly  desultory  and  haphazard 
method  in  the  study,  and  an  inadequacy  and  inco- 
herency  in  the  collective  result,  which  no  one  can 
possibly  realize  or  deplore  so  fully  as  myself.  Still 
the  work  is  a  beginning,  a  first  pioneer  venture  into  a 
realm  which  I  believe  to  be  not  only  new,  but  rich 
and  important.  I  can  only  hope  that  the  example 
may  prompt  others,  with  more  leisure  and  ability,  to 
follow  in  the  path  I  have  blazed,  to  more  extensive 
explorations  and  more  complete  results. 

Well-read  musicians  will  find  in  these  pages  much 
that  they  have  learned  before  from  various  scattered 
sources.  Naturally  so.  I  have  not  originated  my 
facts  or  invented  my  legends.  They  are  common 
property  for  all  who  will  but  seek.  I  have  merely  col- 
lected, arranged,  and,  in  many  instances,  translated 
them  into  English.  I  claim  no  monopoly.  On  the 
other  hand,  they  may  find  some  things  they  have  not 


Introduction  1 3 

previously  known.  In  such  cases  I  venttu^e  to  suggest  to 
the  critically  and  incredulously  inclined,  that  this  does 
not  prove  their  inaccuracy,  though  some  have  seemed 
to  fancy  that  it  did.  Not  to  know  a  thing  does  not 
always  conclusively  demonstrate  that  it  is  not  so. 

To  the  general  reader  let  me  say  that  this  book 
represents  the  best  thought  and  effort  of  my  pro- 
fessionally unoccupied  hours  during  the  past  twenty 
years.  It  comes  to  you  with  my  heart  in  it,  bringing 
the  wish  that  the  material  here  collected  may  be  to 
you  as  interesting  and  helpful  as  it  has  been  to  me  in 
the  gathering.  The  actual  writing  has  mainly  been 
done  on  trains,  or  in  lonely  hotel  rooms  far  from 
books  of  reference,  or  aids  of  any  kind;  so  occasional 
inexactitudes  of  data  or  detail  are  by  no  means  im- 
probable, when  my  only  resource  was  the  memory  of 
something  read,  or  of  personal  conversation  often 
years  before.  With  the  limited  time  at  my  disposal, 
a  detailed  revision  is  not  practicable,  and  I  therefore 
present  the  articles  as  originally  written.  Take  and  use 
what  seems  of  value,  and  the  rest  pass  by. 

The  plan  and  purpose  of  the  book  rest  simply  upon 
the  theory  that  the  true  interpretation  of  music 
depends  not  only  on  the  player's  possession  of  a  correct 
insight  into  the  form  and  harmonic  structure  of  a 
given  composition,  but  also  on  the  fullest  obtainable 
knowledge  concerning  the  circumstances  and  environ- 
ment of  its  origin,  and  the  conditions  governing  the 
composer's  life  at  the  time,  as  well  as  any  historical 
or  legendary  matter  which  may  have  served  him  as 
inspiration  or  suggestion. 

My  reason  for  now  presenting  it  to  the  public  is 


14     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

the  same  as  that  which  has  caused  me  to  devote  my 
professional  life  exclusively  to  the  Lecture  Recital — 
namely,  because  experience  has  proved  to  me  that 
a  knowledge  of  the  poetic  and  dramatic  content  of  a 
musical  work  is  of  immense  value  to  the  player  in 
interpretation,  and  to  the  listener  in  comprehension 
and  enjoyment  of  any  composition,  and  because, 
except  in  scattered  fragments,  no  information  of  just 
this  character  exists  elsewhere  in  print. 

It  being,  as  explained,  impossible  to  make  this  col- 
lection of  analyses  complete,  or  even  approximately 
so,  it  has  seemed  wise  to  limit  the  number  here  in- 
cluded to  just  fifty,  so  as  to  keep  the  book  to  a  con- 
venient size.  I  have  endeavored  to  select  those 
covering  as  large  a  range  and  variety  as  possible,  with 
the  view  of  making  them  as  broadly  helpful  and  sug- 
gestive as  may  be. 

It  is  my  intention  to  continue  my  labors  along  this 
line  so  far  as  strength  and  opportunity  permit,  in  the 
faith  that  I  can  devote  my  efforts  to  no  more  usefu! 
end. 

Edward  Baxter  Perry. 


Esthetic  versus   Structural  Analysis 


T  has  been,  and  still  is,  the  general 
custom  among  most  musicians, 
when  called  upon  to  analyze  a  com- 
position for  the  enlightenment  of 
students  or  the  public,  or  in  the 
effort  to  broaden  the  interest  in 
their  art,  to  think  and  speak  solely 
of  the  form,  the  structure  of  the  work, 
to  treat  it  scientifically,  anatomically — to  dwell  with 
sonorous  unction  upon  the  technical  names  for  its 
various  divisions,  to  lay  bare  and  delightedly  call 
attention  to  its  neatly  fashioned  joints,  to  dilate 
upon  the  beauty  of  its  symmetrical  proportions,  and 
show  how  one  part  fits  into  or  is  developed  out  of 
another — in  brief,  to  explain  more  or  less  intelligently 
the  details  of  its  mechanical  construction,  without 
a  hint  or  a  thought  as  to  why  it  was  made  at  all, 
or  why  it  should  be  allowed  to  exist.  With  the 
specialist's  engrossing  absorption  in  the  technicalities 
of  his  vocation,  they  expect  others  to  share  their 
interest,  and  are  surprised  and  indignant  to  find  that 
they  do  not.  They  forget  that  to  the  average  hearer 
this  learned  dissertation  upon  primary  and  secondary 
subjects,  episodical   passages,  modulation  to  related 

15 


1 6     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

and  unrelated  keys,  cadences,  return  of  the  first  theme, 
etc.,  has  about  as  much  meaning  and  importance  as  so 
much  Sanskrit.  It  is  well  enough,  so  far  as  it  goes,  in 
the  classroom,  where  students  are  being  trained  for  spe- 
cialists, and  need  that  kind  of  information;  but  it 
is  only  one  side, — the  mechanical  side, — and  the  gen- 
eral public  needs  something  else;  and  even  the  stu- 
dent, however  gifted,  if  he  is  to  become  more  than  a 
mere  technician,  must  have  something  else ;  for  com- 
position and  interpretation  both  have  their  mere  tech- 
nic,  as  much  as  keyboard  manipulation,  which  is,  how- 
ever, only  the  means,  not  the  end. 

Knowledge  of  and  insight  into  musical  form  are 
necessary  to  the  player,  but  not  to  the  listener,  even 
for  the  highest  artistic  appreciation  and  enjoyment, 
just  as  the  knowledge  of  colors  and  their  combination 
is  essential  to  the  painter,  but  not  to  the  beholder. 
The  poet  must  understand  syntax  and  prosody,  the 
technic  of  rhyme-making  and  verse-formation;  but 
how  many  of  his  readers  could  analyze  correctly  from 
that  standpoint  the  poem  they  so  much  enjoy,  or  give 
the  scientific  names  for  the  literary  devices  employed? 
Or  how  many  of  them  would  care  to  hear  it  done,  or 
be  the  better  for  it  if  they  did?  The  public  expects 
results,  not  rules  or  formulas;  effects,  not  explana- 
tions of  stage  machinery;  food  and  stimulus  for  the 
intellect,  the  emotions,  the  imagination,  not  recipes  of 
how  they  are  prepared. 

The  value  of  esthetic  analysis  is  undeniably  great  in 
rendering  this  food  and  stimulus,  contained  in  every 
good  composition,  more  easily  accessible  and  more 
readily  assimilated,  by  a  judicious  selection  and  partial 


Esthetic  versus  Structural  Analysis        17 

predigestion,  so  to  speak,  of  the  different  artistic 
elements  in  a  given  work,  and  a  certain  preparation 
of  the  listener  to  receive  them.  This  is,  of  course, 
especially  true  in  the  case  of  the  young,  and  those  of 
more  advanced  years,  to  whom,  owing  to  lack  of  train- 
ing and  opportunity,  musical  forms  of  expression  are 
somewhat  unfamiliar;  or,  in  other  words,  those  to 
whom  the  musical  idiom  is  still  more  or  less  strange. 
But  there  are  also  very  many  musicians  of  established 
position  who  are  sorely  in  need  of  something  of  the 
kind  to  awaken  them  to  a  perception  of  other  factors 
in  musical  art  besides  sensuous  beauty  and  the  dis- 
play of  skill;  to  develop  their  imaginative  and  poetic 
faculties,  in  which  both  their  playing  and  theories 
prove  them  to  be  deficient ;  and  the  more  loudly  they 
cry  against  it  as  useless  and  illegitimate,  the  more  pal- 
pably self-evident  becomes  their  own  crying  need  of  it. 
Esthetic  analysis  consists  in  grasping  clearly  the 
essential  artistic  significance  of  a  composition,  its 
emotional  or  descriptive  content,  either  with  or  with- 
out the  aid  of  definite  knowledge  concerning  the  cir- 
cumstances of  its  origin,  and  expressing  it  plainly  in 
a  few  simple,  well-chosen  words,  comprehensible  by 
the  veriest  child  in  music,  whether  young  or  old  in 
years,  conveying  in  a  direct,  unmistakable,  and  con- 
crete form  the  same  general  impressions  which  the 
composition,  through  all  its  elaborations  and  embel- 
lishments, all  its  manifold  collateral  suggestions,  is 
intended  to  convey,  giving  a  skeleton,  not  of  its  form, 
but  of  its  subject-matter,  so  distinctly  articulated  that 
the  most  untrained  perceptions  shall  be  able  to  recog- 
nize to  what  genus  it  belongs. 

8 


l8     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

Of  course,  when  it  is  possible,  as  it  is  in  many  cases, 
to  obtain  and  give  reliable  data  concerning  the  con- 
ception and  birth  of  a  musical  work,  the  actual  his- 
torical or  traditional  material,  or  the  personal  experi- 
ence, which  furnished  its  inspiration,  the  impulse 
which  led  to  its  creation,  it  is  of  great  assistance  and 
value;  and  this  is  especially  so  when  the  work  is  dis- 
tinctly descriptive  of  external  scenes  or  human  ac- 
tions. For  example,  take  the  Schubert-Liszt  "Erl- 
konig."  Here  the  elements  embodied  are  those  of 
tempest  and  gloom,  of  shuddering  terror,  of  eager  pur- 
suit and  panic-stricken  flight,  ending  in  sudden,  sur- 
prised despair.  These  may  be  vaguely  felt  by  the 
listener  when  the  piece  is  played,  with  varying  in- 
tensity according  to  his  musical  susceptibility;  but  if 
the  legend  of  the  ' '  Erlkonig, "  or  "  Elf -king, ' '  is  narrated 
and  attention  directly  called  to  the  various  descriptive 
features  of  the  work, — the  gallop  of  the  horse,  the  rush 
and  roar  of  the  tempest  through  the  depths  of  the 
Black  Forest,  the  seductive  insistence  and  relentless 
pursuit  of  the  elf-king,  the  father's  mad  flight,  the 
shriek  of  the  child,  and  the  final  tragic  ending,  all  so 
distinctly  suggested  in  the  music, — the  impression  is 
intensified  tenfold,  rendered  more  precise  and  definite ; 
and  the  undefined  sensations  produced  by  the  music 
are  focused  at  once  into  a  positive,  complete,  artistic 
effect. 

Who  can  doubt  that  this  is  an  infinite  gain  to  the 
listener  and  to  art  ?  Again,  take  an  instance  selected 
from  a  large  number  of  compositions  which  are  purely 
emotional,  with  no  kind  of  realistic  reference  to  nature 
or  action,  the  Revolutionary  Etude,  by  Chopin,  Opus 


Esthetic  versus  Structural  Analysis        19 

10,  No.  12,  The  emotional  elements  here  expressed 
are  fierce  indignation,  vain  but  desperate  struggle, 
wrathful  despair.  These  are  easily  recognized  by  the 
trained  esthetic  sense.  Indeed,  the  work  cannot  be 
properly  rendered  by  one  who  does  not  feel  them  in 
playing  it;  and  they  can  be  eloquently  described  in  a 
general  way  by  one  possessing  a  little  gift  of  language 
and  some  imagination ;  but  many  persons  find  it  hard 
to  grasp  abstract  emotions  without  a  definite  assign- 
able cause  for  them,  and  are  incalculably  aided  if  told 
that  the  study  was  written  as  the  expression  of  Chopin's 
feelings,  and  those  of  every  Polish  patriot,  on  receipt 
of  the  news  that  Warsaw  had  been  taken  and  sacked 
by  the  Russians. 

Where  such  data  cannot  be  found  concerning  a  com- 
position, one  can  make  the  content  of  a  work  fairly 
clear  by  means  of  description,  of  analogy  and  com- 
parison, by  the  use  of  poetic  metaphor  and  simile,  by 
little  imaginative  word-pictures,  embodying  the  same 
general  impression;  by  any  means,  in  short, — any 
and  all  are  legitimate, — which  will  produce  the  desired 
result,  namely:  to  concentrate  the  attention  of  the 
student  or  the  listener  on  the  most  important  elements 
in  a  composition,  to  show  him  what  to  listen  for  and 
what  to  expect;  to  prepare  him  fully  to  receive  and 
respond  to  the  proper  impression,  to  tune  up  his 
esthetic  nature  to  the  required  key,  so  it  may  re-echo 
the  harmonious  soul-utterances  of  the  Master,  as 
the  horn-player  breathes  through  his  instrument  before 
using  it,  to  warm  it,  to  bring  it  up  to  pitch,  to  put  it 
in  the  right  vibratory  condition. 

The  plan  of  esthetic  analysis,  in  more  or  less  com- 


20     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

plete  form,  was  used  by  nearly  all  of  the  great  teachers, 
such  as  Liszt,  Kullak,  Frau  Schumann,  and  others, 
and  was  a  very  important  factor  in  their  instruction. 
It  was  used  by  all  the  great  writers  on  music  who  were 
at  the  same  time  eminent  musicians,  like  Liszt,  Schu- 
mann, Mendelssohn,  Mozart,  Wagner,  Berlioz,  Ehrlich, 
and  many  more.  Surely,  with  such  examples  as 
precedents,  not  to  mention  other  good  and  sufficient 
grounds,  we  may  feel  safe  in  pursuing  it  to  the  best  of 
our  ability,  in  print,  in  the  teaching-room,  in  the 
concert-hall,  whenever  and  wherever  it  will  contribute 
to  the  increase  of  general  musical  interest  and  intelli- 
gence, in  spite  of  the  outcries  of  the  so-called  "purists," 
who  see  and  would  have  us  see  in  musical  art  only 
sensuous  beauty  and  the  perfection  of  form,  with 
possibly  the  addition  of,  as  they  might  put  it,  a  certain 
ethereal,  spiritual,  indefinable  something,  too  sacred 
to  be  talked  about,  too  transcendental  to  be  expressed 
in  language,  too  lofty  and  pure  to  be  degraded  to  the 
level  of  human  speech. 

Who,  I  ask,  are  the  sentimentalists — they,  or  we 
who  believe  that  music,  like  every  other  art,  is  ex- 
pression, the  embodying  of  human  experiences,  than 
which  there  is  no  grander  or  loftier  theme  on  this 
earth?  Trust  me,  it  is  not  music  nor  its  subject- 
matter  that  is  nebulous,  indistinct,  hazy;  but  the 
mental  conceptions  of  too  many  who  deal  with  it. 

If  art  is  expression,  as  estheticians  agree,  and  music 
is  an  art,  as  we  claim,  then  it  must  express  something; 
and,  given  sufficient  intelligence,  training,  and  insight, 
that  something — the  vital  essence  of  every  good  com- 
position— can  be  stated  in  words.     Not  always  ade- 


Esthetic  versus  Structural  Analysis        21 

quately,  I  grant,  but  at  least  intelligibly,  as  a  key  to 
the  fuller,  more  complex  expression  of  the  music; 
serving  precisely  hke  the  synopsis  to  an  opera,  or  the 
descriptive  catalogue  in  a  picture  gallery.  This  is  the 
aim  and  substance  of  esthetic  analysis. 

Musicians  are  many  who  see  in  their  mistress 
But  physical  beauty  of  *'  color"  and  "  form," 

Who  hear  in  her  voice  but  a  sensuous  sweetness, 
No  thrill  of  the  heart  that  is  living  and  warm. 

They  judge  of  her  worth  by  "  perfection  of  outline," 
"Proportion  of  parts  "  as  they  blend  in  the  whole, 

"Symmetrical  structure,"  and  "finish  of  detail"  ; 
They  see  but  the  body — ignoring  the  soul. 

She  speaks,  but  they  seem  not  to  master  her  meaning  , 
They  catch  but  the  "  rhythmical  ring  of  the  phrase." 

She  sings,  but  they  dream  not  a  message  is  borne  on 

The  breath  of  the  sigh,  while  its  "  cadence  "  they  praise. 

Her  saddest  laments  are  "  melodious  minors  " 

To  them,  and  her  jests  are  but  "  notes  marked  staccato  "; 

Her  tenderest  pleadings  but  "  themes  well  developed," 
Her  rage  — but  "  a  climax  of  chords  animato." 

In  vain  she  endeavors  to  rouse  their  perceptions 

By  touching  their  brows  with  her  soul-stirring  hand 

They  measure  her  fingers,  their  fairness  admire. 
Declare  her  "  divine,"  but  will  not  understand. 

Away  with  such  worthless  and  sense-prompted  service ; 

Forgetting  the  goddess,  to  worship  the  shrine  ; 
Forgetting  the  bride,  to  admire  her  costume. 

Her  garments  that  glitter,  and  jewels  that  shine  : 

And  give  us  the  artists  of  true  inspiration. 

Whose  insight  is  clear,  and  whose  brains  comprehend, 

To  interpret  the  silver-tongued  message  of  music 
That  speaks  to  the  heart,  like  the  voice  of  a  friend  ; 


2  2     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

That  wakens  the  soul  to  the  joys  that  are  higher 
And  purer  than  all  that  the  senses  can  give. 

That  teaches  the  language  of  lofty  endeavor, 
And  hints  of  a  life  that '  twere  worthy  to  live  I 

For  music  is  Art,  and  all  Art  is  expression, 

The  "beauty  of  form"  but  embodies  the  thought. 

Imprisons  one  ray  of  that  wisdom  supernal 

Which  Genius  to  sense-blinded  mortals  has  brought. 

Then  give  us  the  artist  whose  selfless  devotion 
To  Art  and  her  service  is  earnest  and  true. 

To  read  us  the  mystical  meaning  of  music  ; 
Musicians  are  many,  but  artists  are  few. 


Sources  of  Information  Concerning 
Musical  Compositions 


URING  my  professional  career  I  have 
received  scores  of  letters  from  musi- 
cal persons  all  over  the  country, 
asking  for  the  name  of  the  book  or 
books  from  which  I  derive  the  in- 
formation, anecdote,  and  poetic  sug- 
gestion, concerning  the  compositions 
used  in  my  Lecture  Recitals,  par- 
ticularly the  points  bearing  upon  the  descriptive  and 
emotional  significance  of  such  compositions.  All 
realize  the  importance  and  value  of  this  phase  of 
interpretative  work,  and  many  are  anxious  to  introduce 
it  in  their  teaching  or  public  performances;  but  all 
alike,  myself  not  excepted,  find  the  sources  of  such 
information  scanty  and  difficult  of  access. 

First,  let  me  say  frankly  that  there  is  no  such  book, 
or  collection  of  books.  My  own  meager  stock  of  avail- 
able material  in  this  line  has  been  laboriously  collected, 
without  definite  method,  and  at  first  without  distinct 
purpose,  during  many  years  of  extensive  miscellaneous 
reading  in  English,  French,  and  German ;  supplemented 
by  a  rather  wide  acquaintance  among  musicians  and 
composers,  and  the  life -long  habit  of  seizing  and  mag- 

23 


24     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

nifying  the  poetic  or  dramatic  bearing  and  import  of 
every  scene,  situation,  and  anecdote.  If  asked  to 
enumerate  the  sources  from  which  points  of  value  con- 
cerning musical  works  can  be  derived,  I  should  answer 
that  they  are  three,  not  all  equally  promising,  but  from 
each  of  which  I  myself  have  obtained  help,  and  all  of 
which  I  should  try  before  deserting  the  field.  These 
are: 

First,  and  perhaps  the  most  important,  reading. 
Second,  a  large  acquaintance  among  musicians,  and 
frequent  conversations  with  them  on  musical  subjects. 
Third,  an  intuitive  perception,  partly  inborn  and  partly 
acquired,  of  the  analogies  between  musical  ideas,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  experiences  of  life  and  the 
emotions  of  the  human  soul,  on  the  other.  I  will  now 
elaborate  each  of  these  a  little,  to  make  my  meaning 
more  clear. 

While  there  is  no  book  in  which  information  concern- 
ing the  meaning  of  musical  compositions  is  collected 
and  classified  for  convenient  reference,  such  information 
is  scattered  thinly  and  unevenly  throughout  all  litera- 
tures,— a  grain  here,  a  nugget  there,  like  gold  through 
the  secret  veins  of  the  earth, — and  can  be  had  only 
by  much  digging  and  careful  sifting.  Now  and  again 
you  come  upon  a  single  volume,  like  a  rich  though 
limited  pocket  of  precious  ore,  and  rejoice  with  exceed- 
ing gladness  at  the  discovery  of  a  treasure.  But  un- 
fortunately, there  is  usually  nothing  in  the  appearance 
or  nature  of  such  a  book  to  indicate  to  the  seeker  before 
perusal  that  this  treasure  is  within,  or  to  distinguish 
it  from  scores  of  barren  volumes.  And  the  very  item 
of  which  he  may  be  in  search  is  very  likely  not  here 


Sources  of  Information  25 

to  be  found ;  so  he  must  turn  again  to  the  quest,  which 
is  much  like  seeking  a  needle  in  a  hay-mow,  or  a  pearl 
somewhere  at  the  bottom  of  the  Indian  Ocean. 

Musical  histories,  biographies,  and  essays — what  is 
usually  termed  distinctly  musical  literature — by  no 
means  exhibit  the  only  productive  soil,  though  they 
are  certainly  the  most  fruitful,  and  should  be  first 
turned  to,  because  nearest  at  hand.  Poetry,  fiction, 
travels,  personal  reminiscences,  in  short  every  depart- 
ment of  literature,  from  the  philosophy  of  Schopen- 
hauer to  the  novels  of  George  Sand,  must  be  made  to 
contribute  what  it  can  to  the  stock  of  general  and 
comprehensive  knowledge,  which  is  our  ambition.  I 
instance  these  two  authors,  because,  while  neither  of 
them  wrote  a  single  work  which  would  be  found  em- 
braced in  a  catalogue  of  musical  literature,  the  meta- 
physical speculations  of  Schopenhauer  are  known  to 
have  had  great  influence  upon  Wagner's  personality, 
and  through  that,  of  course,  upon  his  music;  while 
in  some  of  the  characteristics  of  George  Sand  will  be 
found  the  key  to  certain  of  Chopin's  moods,  and  their 
musical  expression.  But  even  where  no  such  relation 
between  author  and  composer  can  be  traced,  I  deem 
one  could  rarely  read  a  good  literary  work,  chosen  at 
random,  without  chancing  upon  some  item  of  interest 
or  information,  which  would  prove  directly  or  indirectly 
of  value  to  the  professional  musician  in  his  life-work. 
And  this  is  entirely  apart  from  the  general  broadening, 
developing,  and  maturing  influence  of  good  reading 
upon  the  mind  and  imagination,  which  may  be  added 
to  the  more  direct  benefit  sought,  forming  a  background 
of  esthetic  suggestion  and  perception,  against  which 


26     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

the  beauties  of  tone-pictures  stand  forth  with  enhanced 
power  and  heightened  color. 

I  know  of  no  better  plan  to  suggest  to  those  striving 
for  an  intelligent  comprehension  of  the  composer's 
meaning  in  his  great  works  than  much  and  careful 
readmg  of  the  best  books  in  all  departments,  and  the 
more  varied  and  comprehensive  their  scope  the  better. 
In  the  search  for  enlightenment  concerning  any  one 
particular  composition,  I  should  advise  the  student 
to  begin  with  works,  if  such  exist,  from  the  pen  of  the 
composer  himself,  followed  by  biographies  and  all 
essays,  criticisms,  and  dissertations  upon  his  com- 
positions which  are  in  print.  If  these  fail  to  give 
information,  he  should  proceed  to  read  as  much  as 
possible  regarding  the  composer's  country  and  con- 
temporaries, and  concerning  any  and  all  subjects  in 
which  he  has  become  aware,  by  the  study  of  his  life, 
that  the  master  was  interested.  The  chances  are  that 
he  will  come  upon  something  of  aid  or  value  before 
finishing  this  task.  Still  very  often  the  quest  will  and 
must  be  in  vain,  because  about  many  musical  works 
there  exists  absolutely  no  information  in  print. 

I  can  perhaps  better  indicate  the  course  to  be  pur- 
sued by  giving  some  illustrations  in  my  own  experience. 
The  following  will  serve:  During  a  trip  in  New  York 
State  I  was  asked  whether  Grieg's  "  Peer  Gynt  "  suite 
was  founded  upon  any  legend  or  story,  and  if  so,  what. 
Though  familiar  with  the  composition  in  question,  I  had 
never  played  it  myself,  nor  given  it  any  particular  at- 
tention, and  in  point  of  fact  was  as  ignorant  on  the 
subject  as  my  interrogator,  and  obliged  to  confess  as 
much.     This  was  before  the  composition  had  become 


Sources  of  Information  2 J 

familiar  in  this  country  and  before  the  drama  on  which 
it  is  founded  had  been  translated  into  English.  Be- 
ing, however,  convinced,  from  the  names  attached  to 
different  parts  of  the  suite,  of  the  probability  of  its 
foundation  upon  some  literary  or  historic  subject,  I 
determined  to  investigate.  I  first  read  several  bio- 
graphical sketches  of  Grieg,  but  found  no  special  men- 
tion of  the  "  Peer  Gynt  "  suite;  then  everything  I  could 
secure  on  the  subject  of  Norwegian  music  in  general 
and  Grieg's  compositions  in  particular,  without  avail. 
As  I  knew  Grieg  to  be,  with  the  possible  exception  of 
Chopin,  the  most  intensely  national  and  patriotic  of 
all  composers,  I  inferred  that  if  he  had  taken  any 
legend  or  story  as  the  basis  of  this  work,  it  was  im- 
doubtedly  Norwegian  in  character.  I  read,  therefore, 
several  articles  on  the  history  of  Norway,  the  Norse- 
men, and  the  Norwegian  language  and  literature, 
watching  carefully  for  the  name  of  Peer  Gynt,  but  in 
vain.  I  next  undertook  some  of  the  sagas  or  ancient 
Norse  traditions,  with  the  same  result.  Having  ex- 
hausted my  resources  in  this  direction,  I  began  to  in- 
vestigate modem  Norwegian  literatiure.  Here,  of 
course,  I  encountered,  in  large  type,  the  names  of 
Bjomson  and  Ibsen,  and  almost  at  the  outset  I  found 
among  the  works  of  the  latter  the  versified  drama  of 
"  Peer  Gynt,"  and  my  search  was  at  an  end.  Having 
proctu-ed  a  German  translation  of  this  drama,  I  found 
scenes  and  characters  to  correspond  exactly  with  those 
which  figure  in  Grieg's  music,  and  a  reference  in  the 
preface  to  an  orchestral  suite,  by  this  composer,  founded 
upon  "  Peer  Gynt." 

Now  had  I  been  as  well  informed  as  I  recommend 


28     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

all  my  readers  to  be,  I  should  have  known  at  the 
outset  of  this  Norwegian  drama,  and  been  at  once 
upon  the  right  track.  But  being  only  familiar  with 
those  prose  dramas  of  Ibsen  which  have  been  translated 
into  English,  I  was  obliged  to  undertake  all  this  extra 
labor,  to  ascertain  a  single  fact ;  which  only  proves  once 
again,  that  the  more  the  musician's  memory  is  stored 
with  miscellaneous  facts  and  ideas,  even  such  as  do 
not  seem  to  have  any  connection  with  music,  the 
lighter  and  more  successful  will  be  his  labors  in  his 
profession. 

The  second  main  source  of  information  concerning 
musical  works  is  found  among  musicians  themselves. 
There  is  a  vast  amount  of  tradition,  suggestion,  and 
knowledge  appertaining  to  the  masterpieces  in  this  art, 
which  has  never  got  into  print,  and  lives  only  by 
passing  from  mouth  to  mouth,  much  as  the  early  legends 
of  all  countries  were  orally  handed  down  among 
minstrels  and  skalds  from  generation  to  generation. 
Every  great  interpreter  and  every  great  composer 
becomes,  with  the  passage  of  years  of  a  long  and  active 
life,  a  vast  and  valuable  storehouse  of  all  sorts  of  hints, 
facts,  and  ideas  on  the  subject  of  various  composi- 
tions, which  usually  die  with  him,  except  such  portions 
as  have  been  orally  transmitted  to  pupils  and  asso- 
ciates. In  this  respect  the  late  Theodor  Kullak  was 
worth  any  three  men  I  have  ever  known,  and  those  of 
his  pupils  who  had  tastes  and  interests  similar  to  his 
own,  and  were  of  retentive  memory,  have  all  derived 
from  him  no  mean  portion  of  their  material.  To  cull 
from  every  musician  and  musically  informed  person 
all  the  odds  and  ends  of  information  in  his  possession 


Sources  of  Information  29 

is  a  valuable,  though  perhaps  selfish  habit.  And  here 
let  me  emphasize  to  all  students  the  importance  of  not 
allowing  the  memory  to  get  into  that  very  prevalent 
bad  habit  of  refusing  to  retain  anything  which  is  not 
presented  in  print  to  the  organ  of  vision.  The  ear 
is  as  good  a  road  to  the  brain  as  the  eye,  and  every 
one  should  possess  the  faculty  of  acquiring  information 
from  conversations,  lessons,  and  lectures,  as  readily 
as  from  books. 

The  third  resource  of  the  seeker  after  truth  of  this 
nature  is  to  be  found  within  himself.  The  musician 
should  early  accustom  himself  to  grasp  clearly  the 
essential  essence,  the  vital  principle,  of  an  artistic 
moment,  a  dramatic  situation.  For  some  such  mo- 
ment, mood,  or  situation,  however  vague  or  veiled, 
underlies  every  true  art  work ;  and  unless  the  performer 
can  perceive  and  comprehend  this  inner  germ  of  mean- 
ing clearly  enough  to  express  it  intelligibly,  though  it 
may  be  crudely,  in  his  own  words,  he  will  find  that  many 
a  hint  has  been  lost  upon  him,  and  many  a  bit  of 
knowledge,  that  might  have  been  his,  has  escaped  him. 
This  is  not  a  musical  faculty  merely;  it  is  a  mental 
peculiarity.  Every  person,  whatever  his  profession, 
should  train  himself  to  catch,  as  quickly  and  clearly 
as  may  be,  the  real  drift  of  a  book,  of  an  argument,  of 
a  chain  of  circumstances,  of  a  political  situation,  of 
history,  of  character,  and  to  place  his  finger  instinc- 
tively upon  the  germ  upon  which  all  else  centers. 

The  power  to  feel  instinctively  the  real  mood  and 
meaning  of  a  musical  composition  is  by  no  means  con- 
fincf'.  to  the  musical  profession ;  indeed,  is  often  strongly 
marked  in  those  ignorant  of  the  very  rudiments  of  the 


3©     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

art.  I  remember  once  playing  to  a  rough  old  trapper, 
of  the  early  pioneer  days  in  Wisconsin,  who  had 
drifted  back  to  civilization  to  "die  in  camp,"  as  he 
expressed  it,  the  Revolutionary  Etude  of  Chopin,  Op. 
ID,  No.  12,  already  cited  in  illustration,  written  on 
receipt  of  the  knowledge  that  Warsaw  had  been  taken 
and  sacked  by  the  Russians.  "What  does  it  mean?" 
I  asked  when  it  was  finished.  He  sprang  from  his 
chair  in  great  excitement.  "Mean?"  he  said;  "it 
means  cyclone  in  the  big  woods!  Indian  onslaught! 
White  men  all  killed,  but  die  hard!"  His  interpreta- 
tion, I  need  not  say,  was  not  historically  correct,  but 
for  all  artistic  purposes  it  was  just  as  good,  though 
expressed  in  the  rough  backwoods  imagery  familiar 
to  him.  He  caught  the  tone  of  rage  and  conflict,  of 
desperate  struggle  and  dark  despair,  which  sounds  in 
every  line,  and  he  had  truly  understood  the  composi- 
tion, to  the  shame  of  many  a  well-educated  musician, 
whose  comment  would  probably  have  been,  "How 
difficult  that  left  hand  part  is!  De  Pachmann  plays 
it  much  faster,  and  with  such  a  beautiful  pianissimo!" 
This  particular  study  is  simply  a  vivid  mood  pic- 
ture. It  is  not  in  any  sense  what  is  called  descriptive 
or  program  music ;  yet  it  has  a  distinct  meaning  which 
can  be  more  or  less  adequately  expressed  in  words,  for 
the  aid  of  those  who  do  not  readily  grasp  its  expres- 
sion. I  wish  to  reiterate  here  what  I  have  before 
stated,  that  I  would  not  be  understood  to  hold  that 
all  music  has  or  should  have  some  story  connected 
with  it.  I  merely  believe  that  every  worthy  com- 
position is  the  musical  setting  of  some  scene,  incident, 
mood,  idea,  or  emotion.     Long  practice  in  perceiving 


Sources  of  Information  31 

and  grasping  what  may  be  termed  the  "internal 
evidence"  of  the  music  itself  will  develop,  in  the 
musician,  a  susceptibility  to  such  impressions,  which 
will  often  lead  him  to  a  knowledge  elsewhere  sought 
in  vain,  and  greatly  lessen  his  labors  in  arriving  at 
knowledge  elsewhere  to  be  found. 

I  have  now  thrown  all  the  light  in  my  power  upon 
the  modtus  operandi  of  obtaining  information  and  ideas 
relating  to  musical  compositions,  and  have,  I  think, 
demonstrated  the  difficulty  of  such  an  undertaking. 
For  my  own  Lecture  Recital  programs  I  often  select 
works  about  which  I  happen  to  be  well  informed, 
and  have  more  than  once  spent  an  entire  summer  in 
reading  and  research  concerning  others  which  I  wished 
to  include.  It  will  be  seen  from  the  nature  of  the 
case,  that  because  one  possesses  full  information  in 
regard  to  a  certain  ballade  or  polonaise,  it  by  no  means 
establishes  a  certainty,  as  is  sometimes  inferred,  that 
he  will  be  equally  enlightened  concerning  all  others. 
There  never  was  and  never  will  be  any  one  man  who 
can  furnish  information  on  the  subject  of  all  com- 
positions, and  it  is  equally  impossible  that  any  glos- 
sary or  cyclopedia  will  ever  be  compiled  which  can 
refer  the  student  to  books  containing  points  in  regard 
to  any  musical  work  one  may  chance  to  be  practising, 
or  wish  to  perform. 


Traditional  Beethoven  Playing 


OW  often  of  late  years  we  hear  this 
expression:  Will  some  one  who 
claims  to  know  kindly  tell  us  what  it 
means?  For  one,  I  confess  myself, 
after  a  decade  of  careful,  thoughtful 
investigation,  utterly  unable  to  find 
out.  We  hear  one  pianist  extolled 
as  a  wonderful  Beethoven  player, 
as  a  safe,  legitimate,  trustworthy  champion  of  the 
good  old  classical  traditions;  and  another  equally  emi- 
nent artist  condemned  as  wholly  unworthy  to  lift  for 
the  public  the  veil  of  awe  and  deep  mystery  enshroud- 
ing the  sublimities  of  this  grandest  of  tone-Titans. 
The  late  von  Biilow,  for  instance,  was  well-nigh 
universally  conceded  to  be  the  representative  Bee- 
thoven player  of  the  age,  for  no  better  reasons,  so 
far  as  I  can  discover,  than  that  he  was  generally 
admitted  to  be  a  failure  in  the  presentation  of  most 
works  of  the  modern  school,  and  that  cold,  calcu- 
lating, cynical  intellectuality  was  the  predominant 
feature  of  his  personality  and  his  musical  work,  which 
made  him  the  driest,  most  unideal,  uninteresting 
pianist  of  his  generation,  in  spite  of  his  phenomenal 
technic,  memory,  and  mental  power. 

33 


Traditional  Beethoven   Playing  33 

On  the  other  hand,  Paderewski,  with  all  his  infinitely 
magnetic  personality,  his  incomparable  beauty  of  tone 
and  coloring,  his  blended  nobility  and  refinement  of 
conception,  is  decried  as  a  perverter  of  taste,  a  de- 
stroyer of  traditions  and  precedents,  because,  forsooth, 
he  plays  Beethoven  too  warmly,  too  emotionally,  too 
subjectively.  1 

De  grace,  messieurs,  what  does  it  all  signify?  Are 
we  then  to  accept  perforce  as  final,  in  spite  of  our 
better  instincts,  the  dictum  of  the  long  since  petrified 
Leipsic  School,  which  holds  technic  of  the  hand  and 
head,  not  only  as  the  supreme,  but  as  the  sole  element 
in  musical  art — which  relegates  all  emotion  and  its 
expression  to  the  despised  limbo  of  sickly  sentimental- 
ity, and  which  epitomizes  its  highest  encomium  of 
an  artist  in  the  words  "He  allows  himself  no 
liberties"  —  that  is  to  say,  he  plays  merely  the 
notes,  with  the  faultless  precision  and  soulless 
monotony  of  a  machine?  Is  this,  then,  traditional 
playing  of  Beethoven,  or  any  other  composer?  Is 
it  art  at  all?  If  there  is  any  such  thing  as  an  authen- 
tic, authoritative  musical  standard  concerning  any 
given  composition,  upon  what  does  or  should  it  rest? 
Surely  either  upon  the  way  its  composer  rendered  it, 
or  desired  it  rendered,  if  that  can  be  ascertained,  or 
upon  the  way  it  was  given  by  its  first  great  public 
interpreter.  Let  us  examine  the  scanty  available 
data  concerning  Beethoven's  piano  works  from  this 
point  of  view.  How  did  Beethoven  himself  play  his 
own  works? 

This  question  reminds  one  of  the  century-old  dis- 
pute among  scholars  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  so-called 
3 


34     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

English  pronunciation  of  Latin,  an  absurdity  on  the 
face  of  it.  Fancy  talking  of  the  English  pronuncia- 
tion of  French  or  German!  Of  course,  we  do  not 
know  and  have  no  means  of  learning  exactly  how 
the  old  Latins  did  pronounce  *^'»'^  language  in  all 
the  niceties  of  detail,  but  one  thing  we  do  know  with 
absolute  certainty,  and  that  is  that  they  did  not 
Anglicize  it,  for  the  one  good  reason  that  our  language 
did  not  come  into  existence  until  centuries  after  the 
Latin  tongue  was  dead.  Similarly,  as  there  is  no 
one  now  living  who  can  remember  and  tell  us  just 
how  Beethoven  did  play  any  given  sonata,  and  as,  un- 
fortunately, the  phonograph  was  not  then  invented  to 
preserve  for  us  the  incalculably  precious  records  of  his 
interpretations,  we  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  just 
what  his  conceptions  were,  even  supposing  they  had 
been  twice  alike,  which  they  probably  were  not.  But 
this  we  may  be  sure  of,  beyond  a  question  or  a  doubt : 
He  did  not  play  them  according  to  von  Biilow.  Fur- 
thermore, there  is  no  ground  for  believing  that  his 
performances  were  at  all  such  as  the  conservative 
sticklers  for  classic  traditions  insist  that  oiu*  renditions 
of  Beethoven  must  be  to-day.  We  know  this  from  a 
study  of  the  life  and  characteristics  of  the  man,  from 
the  internal  evidence  of  his  works,  and  from  the  re- 
ports given  us  by  his  contemporaries  of  his  manner  of 
playing  them  and  their  effect  upon  the  hearer. 

Beethoven  was  preeminently  a  romanticist,  in  the 
content,  if  not  always  in  the  form  of  his  works ;  a  man 
of  pronounced,  self -loyal  individuality  and  intense 
subjectivity,  who  wrote,  and  consequently  must  have 
played,  as  he  felt,  and  not  in  accordance  with  pre- 


Traditional  Beethoven  Playing  35 

scribed  rules  and  formulas;  a  man  who  can  reply 
without  immodesty  when  criticized  for  breaking  a 
preestablished  law  of  harmony,  "I  do  it,"  with  the 
calm  confidence  in  the  divine  right  of  genius  to  self- 
utterance  in  its  own  chosen  way  which  always  accom- 
panies true  greatness  and  has  been  the  infallible 
compass  of  progress  in  all  ages.  The  man  who  was 
the  fearless,  outspoken  champion  of  artistic  sincerity 
and  profound  earnestness,  whose  scorn  of  shallow, 
pedantic  formulas  was  as  uncompromising  as  it  was 
irrepressible,  whose  watchword  was  universality  of 
content,  who  believed  that  music  could  and  should  be 
made  to  express  every  phase  of  human  emotion,  who 
could  venture  on  the  unheard-of  innovation  of  begin- 
ning a  sonata  with  a  pathetic  adagio,  and  introducing 
a  chorus  into  the  last  movement  of  a  symphony, 
in  open  defiance  of  all  established  tradition,  who  was 
repeatedly  accused  by  the  critics  of  his  day  of  being 
unable  to  write  a  correct  fugue  or  sonata,  and  whose 
music  was  declared  to  be  that  of  a  madman  by  leading 
musicians  even  as  late  as  the  beginning  of  our  century 
— this  is  surely  not  the  man  whose  artistic  personality 
can  be  fairly  represented  by  a  purely  intellectual, 
stiffly  precise,  though  never  so  scholarly  reading  of 
his  printed  scores.  How  is  that  better  than  the 
bloodless  plaster  casts  of  the  living,  breathing  children 
of  his  genius  ?  The  printed  symbols  represent  audible 
sounds  and  the  sounds  symbolize  emotions.  The  mere 
sounds  with  the  emotions  left  out  are  no  more  Bee- 
thoven's music  than  the  printed  notes  if  never  made 
audible. 

Of  his  own  playing,  we  are  told  that  it  lacked  finish 


36     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

and  precision,  but  never  warmth  and  intensity;  thatt 
like  his  nature,  it  was  stormy,  impetuous,  impulsive, 
at  times  even  almost  brutal  in  its  rough  strength  and 
fierce  energy;  that  he  often  sacrificed  tone  quality 
and  even  accuracy  in  his  complete  abandonment  to 
the  torrent  of  his  emotions,  but  never  failed  to  stir 
to  their  profoundest  depths  the  hearts  of  his  hearers. 
Is  this  the  man,  this  hero  of  musical  democracy,  this 
giant  embodiment  of  the  Titanic  forces  of  primitive 
Nature,  this  shaggy -maned  lion,  with  the  great,  warm, 
keenly  sentient  human  heart,  whose  nearest  proto- 
type among  modern  players  is  Rubinstein ;  is  this  the 
man  with  whom  originated  the  severely  classical 
school,  the  cold,  prim,  stately  interpretations  which 
we  are  told  to  reverence  as  traditional,  in  which  the 
head  is  everything,  the  heart  nothing — form  all-impor- 
tant, and  feeling  a  deplorable  weakness?  It  is  im- 
possible, incredible! 

I  honestly  believe  that  if  Beethoven  himself  could 
revisit  the  world  and  appear  incognito  in  the  concert- 
halls  of  our  musical  centers  to  give  us  an  ideal,  authori- 
tative rendition  of  his  great  works,  one-half  of  his 
audience  and  nine-tenths  of  his  critics  would  hold  up 
their  hands  in  holy  horror  at  his  untraditional  and 
un- Beethoven-like  readings,  and  would  declare  that 
while  he  was  an  interesting  and  magnetic  artist,  and 
an  enjoyable  player  of  the  lighter,  more  emotional 
modern  school,  his  renderings  of  the  revered  classics 
were  dangerously  perverting  to  the  public  taste  and 
could  not  be  sufficiently  condemned. 

But  if  not  with  Beethoven  himself,  with  whom  did 
these  so-called  traditions  originate?    Was  it  with  the 


Traditional  Beethoven  Playing  37 

first  great  public  interpreters  of  his  works,  who  intro- 
duced them  to  the  world  of  concert-goers  and  so  earned 
the  right  to  have  their  readings  respected?  Who  was 
the  first,  most  enthusiastic,  courageous,  and  efficient 
champion  of  Beethoven's  piano  works?  Who  did  most 
to  introduce  them  to  the  concert  audiences  of  Europe,  to 
force  for  them  first  a  hearing,  then  a  reluctant  recog* 
nition?  Who  first  and  oftenest  dared  to  present  Bee- 
thoven's serious  chamber  music  to  the  frivolous  sensa- 
tion-loving Parisians,  and  to  risk  his  unprecedented 
popularity  with  them  upon  the  venture?  Who  but 
Franz  Liszt !  For  nearly  two  decades,  during  the  whole 
of  his  phenomenal  career  as  a  virtuoso,  the  vast  weight 
of  his  musical  influence  and  example,  the  incalculable 
force  of  his  fervid,  magnetic  personality,  and  his  in- 
exhaustible resources  as  an  executant,  were  all  brought 
to  bear  in  behalf  of  his  revered  Beethoven,  in  the  effort 
to  render  his  best  piano  works  familiar  and  popular 
with  the  European  public.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
during  that  period  Liszt  introduced  more  Beethoven 
sonatas  to  more  people  than  all  other  pianists  com- 
bined. He  then  established  such  traditions  as  there 
may  be  regarding  the  proper  interpretation  of  these 
works ;  and  surely  no  one  who  heard  him  play,  no  one 
who  is  even  slightly  familiar  with  his  life,  character- 
istics, and  art  ideals,  will  think  for  a  moment  of  classing 
him  with  the  conservative  school,  with  the  inflexible, 
puritanical  adherents  to  cut-and-dried  theories  and 
the  cold  dead  letter  of  the  law  as  represented  by  the 
printed  notes. 

But  we  are  told  that  precisely  these  printed  notes 
and  signs  should  be  our  only  and  all-sufficient  guide. 


38     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

We  are  commanded  to  stick  to  the  text  and  not  to 
presmne  to  take  personal  liberties  with  so  sacred  a 
thing  as  a  Beethoven  composition.  I  wonder  if  the 
advocates  of  this  idea,  which  does  so  much  credit  to 
their  bump  of  veneration  and  so  little  to  their  artistic 
insight,  ever  took  the  trouble  to  examine  the  text 
of  these  same  Beethoven  compositions  in  the  earliest 
editions,  as  they  came  first  from  his  own  hand ;  and  if 
so,  whether  they  noticed  the  conspicuous  absence  of 
marks  of  expression.  When  they  urge  that  Bee- 
thoven probably  knew  best  how  his  works  should  be 
rendered  and  that  we  ought  to  follow  exclusively 
and  religiously  his  indications,  do  they  know  how 
very  few  and  inadequate  these  were?  So  few,  in  fact, 
that  if  only  those  given  by  the  composer  are  to  be  ob- 
served, even  the  most  rigid  of  our  sticklers  for  clas- 
sical severity  are  guilty  of  the  most  flagrant  breaches 
of  their  own  rule.  Are  we  then  to  suppose  that  Bee- 
thoven wished  his  music  played  without  varying  ex- 
pression, on  one  dead  monotonous  level?  Not  at  all; 
but  simply  to  infer  that,  like  many  great  composers, 
he  felt  such  indications  to  be  wholly  unnecessary, 
and  was  far  too  impatient  to  stop  for  such  mechanical 
details.  To  him  his  music  was  the  vital  utterance 
of  the  intense  life  within.  The  meaning  and  true  de- 
livery of  each  phrase  were  vividly,  unmistakably  self- 
evident,  needing  arbitrary  marks  of  expression  as  little 
as  a  heart-felt  declaration  of  love  or  outburst  of  grief. 
He  rightly  assumed  that  to  be  played  at  all  as  it  should 
be,  such  music  must  first  be  felt,  and  that  visible 
marks  of  expression  would  be  as  needless  to  the  player 
with  intuitive  comprehension,  as  they  would  be  use- 


Traditional  Beethoven  Playing  39 

less  to  the  player  without  it.  Just  as  Chopin  omitted 
the  indication  "tempo  rubato  "  from  all  his  later  works, 
declaring  that  any  one  who  had  sense  enough  to  play 
them  at  all  would  know  that  it  was  demanded  without 
being  told. 

True,  Beethoven's  works  have  been  edited  well-nigh 
to  death  since  his  time,  but  of  course  without  his 
sanction  or  revision;  and  as  no  two  editions  agree, 
who  shall  decide  which  is  infallible?  And  why,  I  ask, 
is  not  the  audible  interpretation  at  the  piano  of  a 
Liszt,  a  Rubinstein,  or  a  Paderewski  just  as  likely 
to  be  legitimate  as  the  printed  interpretation  of  a 
Billow  or  a  Lebert?  Has  not  one  artist  as  good  a  right 
to  his  conception  as  another?  And  in  heaven's  name 
what  possible  reason  is  there  for  assuming,  in  regard 
to  an  intensely  emotional  composer  and  player  like 
Beethoven,  that  the  coldly,  stiffly  scholastic  reading 
of  his  works  is  more  in  accordance  with  his  original 
intention  than  a  more  warm  and  subjective  one? 

Moreover,  even  if  there  were  a  complete,  corrected, 
authorized  edition  of  Beethoven,  carefully  revised  by 
the  composer  himself,  any  one  who  has  ever  written 
out,  proof-read,  and  finally  published  the  simplest 
original  composition  knows  well  by  experience  how 
utterly  impossible  it  is  to  indicate  definitely,  with  our 
imperfect  system  of  marking,  just  how  each  strain 
should  be  rendered.  A  general  outline  of  the  whole 
effect  desired  can  be  given ;  but  try  as  we  may,  all  the 
more  delicate  shades,  the  finer  details  of  accent  and 
inflection,  must  always  be  left  to  the  taste,  insight, 
and  temperament  of  the  individual  performer;  just  as 
the  intelligent  reading  of  a  poem  depends  upon  much 


40     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

besides  an  observance  of  the  punctuation  marks.  It 
is  not  within  the  limits  of  human  ability  to  edit  a 
single  period  of  eight  measures  so  perfectly  that  no 
variations  or  mistakes  in  the  interpretation  are  pos- 
sible. 

In  view  of  these  facts,  I  am  bold  enough  to  maintain 
that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  an  absolutely  correct 
traditional  rendering  of  any  single  Beethoven  com- 
position, one  to  be  followed  inflexibly.  It  might  be 
said  of  Beethoven,  and  in  fact  of  any  great  composer, 
as  aptly  as  of  Shakespeare,  that  he  is  always  on  the 
level  of  his  readers.  Those  possessing  neither  natural 
nor  acquired  appreciation  for  the  best  music  will  find 
in  Beethoven  nothing  but  a  series  of  unintelligible 
and  more  or  less  disagreeable  noises,  like  Humboldt. 
Those  who  by  nature,  training,  and  habit  of  mind 
are  fitted  to  perceive  and  enjoy  only  the  physical  and 
intellectual  elements  in  tonal  art, — its  sensuous  effect 
upon  the  ear,  its  rhythmic  movement,  its  ingenious 
intricacies  of  structure  and  symmetry  of  form, — will 
seek  and  find,  and,  if  they  are  players,  will  emphasize 
in  Beethoven  only  these  factors,  and  will  vehemently 
protest  that  there  is  nothing  else  there,  and  that  any 
attempt  to  find  or  to  introduce  anything  else  is  presump- 
tuous and  morbid.  But  those  to  whom  music  is  the 
artistic  medium  for  the  expression  of  the  strongest, 
deepest,  and  best  of  human  emotions,  who  demand 
that  every  strain  shall  come  fresh  and  warm  from  the 
heart  of  the  composer  and  speak  directly  and  force- 
fully to  the  heart  of  the  hearer;  those  to  whom  the 
brain,  no  less  than  the  hand,  is  a  servant  to  that 
higher,  subtler  ego  we  call  the  soul,  and  form  and 


Traditional  Beethoven  Playing  41 

technic  alike  mere  vehicles  for  soul  utterance,  will 
strive,  with  humble,  self-abnegating  fidelity,  to  read 
between  the  lines  of  the  printed  music  that  unwritten, 
unwritable  spirit  of  their  composer ;  will  infuse  for  the 
moment  their  own  pulsing,  revivifying  life  into  the 
symbolic  forms  until  they  glow  with  at  least  a  faint 
suggestion  of  their  original  warmth  and  vitality,  as 
when  freshly  born  of  the  passion  and  the  labor  of 
genius.  These  alone  can  give  us,  in  the  light  and 
truth  of  spiritual  intuition,  the  only  approximately 
traditional  Beethoven  playing. 


Beethoven:  The  Moonlight  Sonata, 
Op.  27,  No.  2  (C  Sharp  Minor) 


HERE  is  probably  no  composition  for 

the  piano  of  any  real  merit,  by  any 

writer,  which  is  so  universally  known, 

at  least  by  name,  as   this  sonata. 

Every  one  has   heard   of   it,  read 

about  it,  and  most  persons  are  more 

or  less  familiar  with  the  music,  or 

at   any   rate   with   portions  of  it, 

especially  the  first  movement,  which  is,  technically, 

easy  enough  to  be  executed,  in  the  literal  sense,  with 

the  greatest  facility  by  every  school-girl. 

According  to  strict  requirements  of  the  law  of  form 
it  is,  in  reality,  not  a  sonata  at  all,  but  a  free  fantasia, 
in  three  detached  movements,  of  a  very  pronounced 
but  widely  diverse  emotional  character.  There  has 
been  considerable  questioning  on  the  part  of  the 
public,  and  much  discussion  among  musicians,  as  to 
the  origin  of  its  name,  its  relevancy  to  the  music,  and 
the  true  artistic  significance  of  the  work; 

There  is  little,  if  any,  suggestion  of  moonlight,  or 
the  mood  usually  associated  with  a  moonlight  scene, 
in  any  of  the  movements ;  but  there  are  several  more 

45 


46     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

or  less  credited  traditions  concerning  it  afloat,  legitima- 
tizing  the  title  and  explaining  its  origin.  Of  these, 
the  one  that  seems  to  the  present  writer  most  fully 
authenticated  and  best  sustained  by  the  content  of 
the  compositions  as  a  whole  is  the  following.  It  is 
given,  not  as  a  verified  fact,  but  as  a  suggestive  possi- 
bility, a  legendary  background  in  keeping  with  the 
work. 

It  is  a  well-known  matter  of  history  that,  during 
his  early  struggles  for  existence  in  Vienna,  while  ex- 
periencing the  inevitable  period  of  probation,  well 
named  the  "starvation  epoch,"  common  to  the  lot 
of  every  creative  artist,  and  the  equally  inevitable 
heritage  of  great  genius,  bom  fifty  years  in  advance 
of  its  time, — lack  of  appreciation  and  scathing  abuse 
from  the  self-constituted,  self-satisfied  foes  of  all  pro- 
gressive art,  called  critics, — Beethoven  had  the  addi- 
tional misfortune  to  fall  deeply,  but  hopelessly,  in  love 
with  a  beautiful  and  brilliantly  accomplished,  though 
shallow,  young  heiress,  of  noble  birth  and  lofty  social 
position,  Julie  Guicciardi  by  name,  who  was,  for  a 
short  time,  one  of  his  pupils.  She  is  said  to  have  re- 
turned his  affection,  but  the  union  was,  of  course,  under 
the  then  prevailing  conditions,  utterly  impossible; 
and  even  if  it  could  have  taken  place,  would  doubtless 
have  proved  most  incompatible  and  uncongenial.  She 
was  a  countess,  accustomed  to  luxury  and  splendor; 
he  an  obscure  musician  fighting  for  the  bare  necessities 
of  life,  hardly  higher  in  the  social  scale  than  her  father's 
valet  and  not  so  well  paid.  It  was  absurd ;  and  blind 
Love  had  blundered  once  again  in  his  marksmanship. 
Or  was  it  an  intentional,  cruel  shaft  from  the  tricky 


Beethoven:  The  Moonlight  Sonata       47 

little  god  ?  In  any  case,  Beethoven  was  deeply  smitten ; 
and  this  unlucky  passion  darkened  and  saddened  his 
life  for  many  years,  and  is  accountable  for  much  of  the 
somber  tone  which  we  find  in  his  compositions  of  that 
period. 

So  much  is  fact.  The  story  goes  that  one  evening, 
when  wandering  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  on  one  of 
those  long,  solitary  walks,  which  were  his  only  relaxa- 
tion, he  chanced  to  pass  an  elegant  suburban  villa  in 
which  a  gay  social  gathering  was  in  progress.  Some 
one  was  playing  one  of  his  recent  compositions  as  he 
went  by — a  rare  occmrence  in  those  days.  His  atten- 
tion was  attracted  and,  half  unconsciously,  he  stopped 
to  listen — stopped,  as  luck  would  have  it,  in  a  full 
flood  of  moonlight,  was  recognized  from  within,  and  a 
laughing  company  of  the  guests,  Julie  among  them, 
sallied  out,  surrounded  and  captured  him,  and  fairly 
compelled  him  to  come  in  and  play  for  them.  They 
insisted  that  he  should  improvise  and  should  take  for 
his  theme  the  moonlight  which  had  been  the  cause  of 
his  capture  and  their  unexpected  pleasure.  The 
usually  reticent,  intractable,  not  to  say  morose, 
Beethoven  at  last  consented — under  who  shall  say  what 
subtle  spell  of  Julie's  voice  and  eyes? — and  seated 
himself  at  the  piano. 

But  those  who  are  at  all  familiar  with  his  music  know 
that  Beethoven  was,  except  in  a  few  rare  instances,  an 
emotional,  not  a  realistic  writer;  a  subjective,  not  an 
objective  artist;  reproducing  not  the  scenes  and  cir- 
cumstances of  his  environment  or  fancied  situations, 
but  the  emotional  impressions  which  they  produced 
upon  his  own  inner  being,  colored  by  his  own  per* 


48     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

sonality  and  the  mental  conditions  of  the  moment, 
often  just  the  reverse  of  what  might  naturally  have 
been  expected.  What  he  most  keenly  felt  on  this 
particular  occasion  was  not  the  soft  splendor  of  the 
summer  night,  or  the  opulent  luxury  and  careless, 
superficial  gaiety  about  him,  but  the  bitter  and  cutting 
contrast  which  they  afforded  to  his  own  struggling, 
sorrow-darkened,  care-laden  existence,  full  of  dis- 
appointments and  humiliations,  of  petty,  sordid,  yet 
unavoidable  anxieties,  with  those  twin  vultures  ever 
at  his  heart — a  hopeless  love,  an  unappreciated  genius. 
The  result  was  moonlight  music  in  which  no  gleam  of 
moonlight  was  reflected ;  only  its  somber  shadow  lying 
heavily  and  depressingly  upon  the  stream  of  his 
emotions,  which  poured  themselves  out  through  the 
harmonies  of  this  composition  with  an  unconscious 
power  and  truth  and  a  pathetic  grandeur  which  have 
justly  made  it  world-famous. 

The  first  movement  expresses  unmingled  sadness, 
but  without  any  weakness  of  vain  complaint ;  a  calm, 
candid,  but  hopeless  recognition  of  the  inevitable. 

The  second  seems  to  be  an  attempt  at  a  lighter, 
more  cheerful  strain,  a  fleeting  recollection  of  his 
ostensible  theme;  but  it  is  only  partially  successful 
and  very  brief,  and  is  followed  by  a  reaction  into  a 
mood  far  more  intense  and  darkly  fierce  than  the 
first. 

The  last  movement  is  full  of  indignant  protest,  of 
passionate  rebellion,  with  occasional  bursts  of  fiery 
defiance.  In  it  we  see  the  strong  soul,  surging  like  the 
waves  of  a  mighty  sea  against  the  rocky  borders  of 
fate,  striving  desperately  to  break  through  or  over 


Beethoven :  The  MoonHght  Sonata       49 

them,  and  returning  again  and  again  to  the  fruitless 
attempt,  with  a  courage  only  equaled  by  its  futility. 
It  is  the  Titan  Beethoven  battling  with  the  gods  of 
destiny. 

It  is,  of  course,  unlikely,  even  impossible,  that  this 
improvisation, — the  tradition  being  true, — was  pre- 
cisely the  music  of  the  Moonlight  Sonata  in  its  present 
form.  It  could  but  furnish  the  themes,  outlines,  and 
moods  of  the  various  movements,  subsequently  de- 
veloped into  the  composition  so  widely  known  and 
admired. 


Beethoven :  Sonata  Pathdtique, 
Op.  13 


ITH  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the 
"Moonlight,"  this  work  is  the  best 
known  to  the  world  at  large,  and 
the  one  most  frequently  attempted 
by  ambitious  students  of  the  Bee- 
thoven sonatas.  Its  familiar  title 
was  not  bestowed  by  Beethoven 
himself,  but  by  some  publishers 
later,  and  seems  to  me  inaptly  chosen;  in  fact,  not 
at  all  justly  applicable  to  the  composition  as  a  whole. 
It  was  probably  suggested  partly  by  the  minor  key, 
but  mainly  by  the  second  movement,  which  is  gravely 
pathetic  in  mood.  As  a  whole  the  work  is  far  too 
strong,  intense,  and  dramatic  to  warrant  the  name. 
Sonata  Tragica  would  have  been  better.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  find  any  authority  for  attributing  to  it 
definite  descriptive  significance  in  the  objective  sense. 
It  is  the  forceful  expression  of  a  pronounced  emotional 
condition,  or  rather,  sequence  of  experiences,  embodied 
with  all  the  fervent  glow  and  impetuous  power  of 
early  manhood,  yet  with  the  precision  and  finish  of 
maturity.      Every   measure   is    replete    with   intense 

50 


Beethoven  :  Sonata  Pathetique  5 1 

feeling  as  well  as  intrinsic  beauty.  There  is  not  a 
superfluous  note  or  a  meaningless  embellishment  in  it 
from  beginning  to  end;  not  an  ounce  of  sawdust 
stuffing  to  fill  out  the  defective  contours  of  a  stereo- 
typed form — which,  alas !  is  not  true  of  many  of 
Beethoven's  piano  works;  and,  all  in  all,  it  seems  to 
the  present  writer  to  be  the  most  musically  interesting 
and  evenly  sustained  composition  for  the  piano  from 
Beethoven's  pen. 

The  broad,  impressive  introduction  marked  grave 
is  full  of  strength  and  somber  majesty.  It  is  gloomily 
grand  rather  than  pathetic,  like  the  epitome  of  some 
stern  fatalist's  philosophy  of  life,  and  reminds  c\ie  of 
Swinburne's  lines: 

"  More  dark  than  a  dead  world's  tomb, 
More  high  than  the  sheer  dawn's  gate. 
More  deep  than  the  wide  sea's  womb, 
Fate." 

The  first  subject  of  the  allegro  movement  is  any- 
thing but  pathetic.  It  is  full  of  fire,  energy,  and 
restless  striving;  of  fierce  conflict  and  desperate  en- 
deavor; of  the  defiant  pride  of  genius  exulting  in  the 
unequal  combat  with  the  world's  stony  indifference, 
and  the  inimical  conditions  of  life. 

The  second  theme  is  warmer  and  more  nearly  ap- 
proaches the  lyric  vein.  It  is  half  pleading,  half 
argumentative  in  tone,  strikingly  suggestive  of  the 
mood  so  common  to  young  but  gifted  souls,  in  the 
bitterness  of  their  first  pained  surprise  at  the  cruel 
contrast  between  the  ideal  and  the  actual  in  life.  It 
seems  to  strive  to  reason  with  unreasoning  and  un- 
reasonable facts,  and  to  touch  the  heart  of  a  heartless 


52     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

fate  with  its  tender  pleading.  The  continually  re- 
iterated embellishments  upon  the  melody  notes  here 
should  be  given  distinctly  as  a  mordente,  with  marked 
accent  on  the  last  of  the  three  tones  in  every  case, 
not  played  as  a  triplet  with  accent  on  the  first,  as  is 
so  often  done,  and  even  so  indicated  in  many  standard 
editions,  thus  materially  weakening  the  effect  of  the 
passage,  rendering  it  trivial  and  characterless  as  well 
as  out  of  keeping  with  the  general  mood.  This  is 
what  Kullak  used  to  call  "the  lazy  way  "  of  playing  it. 
The  striking  contrast  between  the  first  and  second 
subjects  should  be  maintained  throughout,  with 
greatest  possible  distinctness,  and  the  closing  chords 
must  be  given  boldly,  defiantly,  like  a  challenge  proudly 
flung  to  all  the  powers  of  darkness,  to  fate,  no  matter 
how  adverse. 

With  the  second  movement  comes  a  radical  change 
of  mood.  The  first  impetuous  vigor  has  been  ex- 
pended in  the  struggle;  the  first  joy  of  combat  and 
self-reliant  consciousness  of  strength  have  ebbed  away 
like  a  receding  tide,  leaving  the  soul  exhausted,  dis- 
couraged, but  not  despairing.  There  is  a  moment  of 
truce  in  life's  battle,  a  moment  of  calm,  though  sad 
reflection;  a  moment  in  which  to  contemplate  the 
impassable  gulf  between  the  heaven-piercing  heights 
of  ambition  and  the  petty  levels  of  possible  human 
achievement,  in  which  to  dream,  not  of  victory  and 
happiness, — those  are  among  the  unattainable  ideals, 
— but  of  rest  and  sweet  forgetfulness,  and  to  say  with 
Tennyson — 

"  What  profit  do  we  have  to  war  with  evil  ? 
Let  as  alone." 


Beethoven  :  Sonata  Pathetique  53 

There  is  an  occasional  hint  of  the  volcanic  fires  of 
passion,  slumbering  beneath  this  sinrface  calm  of  a 
spirit  sent  to  earth,  but  not  broken,  gathering  its 
forces  for  a  fresh  uprising.  But  as  a  whole  it  is  tran- 
quilly thoughtful,  gravely  introspective,  and  should 
be  rendered  with  great  deliberation  and  profound 
earnestness. 

The  last  movement  is  hardly  up  to  the  standard 
of  the  other  two,  either  musically  or  emotionally. 
Still  it  is  interesting,  symmetrically  made,  and  not 
devoid  of  depth  and  intensity.  It  is  perhaps  a  logical 
conclusion  to  the  work,  if  we  regard  the  whole  as  a 
sort  of  tone-poem  on  life.  With  most  of  us  in  youth, 
our  boundless  coturage  and  aspiration  lead  us  to  dare 
all  things  and  believe  in  the  possibility  of  all  things; 
to  hurl  ourselves  into  the  fight  with  destiny,  with  the 
limitless  presumption  of  untried  powers  and  unwar- 
rantable hopes.  Later  comes  a  period  of  depression 
and  discouragement,  in  which  nothing  seems  worth 
effort,  so  far  do  realities  fall  below  our  expectations. 
Then,  if  we  are  reasonable,  we  learn,  at  last,  to  adapt 
ourselves  in  a  measure  to  things  as  they  are,  to  con- 
tent ourselves  in  some  wise  with  the  flowers,  since  the 
stars  are  out  of  reach,  and  to  measure  achievement 
relatively,  not  by  the  standard  of  our  first  glorious, 
ever-to-be-regretted  ambitions,  but  of  the  possible, 
the  partial  and  imperfect,  under  the  limitations  of 
inflexible  earthly  conditions ;  and  we  quench  our  soul's 
thirst  as  best  we  may  with  the  meager,  mingled  draught 
of  bitter-sweet  that  life  offers. 

This  movement  is  light,  rapid,  and  would  b^"  cheerful 
but  for  its  minor  key  and  its  undertone  of  |>lafntive 


54     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

sadness.  It  seems  like  an  attempt  to  take  a  brightef 
view  of  life,  but  is  still  shadowed  by  past  experiences, 
— a  touching  gaiety  dimmed  by  the  mist  of  recent  tears, 
— and  this  is,  perhaps  unintentionally,  the  most  nearly 
pathetic  of  the  three  movements.  It  should  be  given 
with  life  and  warmth,  and,  despite  the  pedants,  with 
a  free  use  of  the  rubato,  but  not  with  extreme  velocity. 


Beethoven:    Sonata  in   A   Flat 
Major,   Op.    26 


1 

HIS  sonata,  like  the  "Moonlight" 
and  several  others  in  the  collection 
of  Beethoven's  piano  work  bearing 
this  name,  is  not  cast  in  the  usual 
sonata  mold;  in  fact,  it  is  not  a 
sonata  at  all,  according  to  the 
modem  technical  application  of  the 
term.  But  as  the  name  sonata  was 
originally  derived  from  the  Italian  verb  sonare,  to 
sound,  or,  in  musical  parlance,  to  cause  to  sound,  to 
play  upon  a  musical  instrument,  and  was  used  to 
designate  any  piece  of  instrumental  music  whatsoever, 
in  distinction  from  that  which  was  intended  to  be 
sung,  it  is  perhaps  as  correctly  employed  in  this  con- 
nection as  in  any  other. 

The  first  movement  of  this  work  consists  of  a  simple, 
beautiful,  melodious,  noble  lyric  theme,  followed  by 
five  strongly  contrasted  and  strikingly  characteristic 
variations,  and  an  exquisitely  tender  and  expressive 
little  coda. 

The  theme  and  variations,  not  only  in  this,  but  in 
every  case  where  the  form  is  well  wrought  out,  is  a 
musical  illustration  of  the  natural,  logical  process  of 

55 


56     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

evolution.  The  simple,  vital  germ  of  thought  or  feel- 
ing, inherent  in  the  theme,  as  the  life  principle  inheres 
in  the  germ  of  wheat,  is  seen  to  expand  gradually  and 
develop  through  the  successive  variations  into  new  and 
changing  forms  of  ever-increasing  beauty  and  sugges- 
tiveness  until  every  latent  possibility  of  expression 
has  been  matured  and  exhausted,  and  the  idea  has 
been  presented  to  us  in  every  practicable  light  and 
from  every  attainable  standpoint;  just  as  the  gradual 
growth  and  ripening  of  the  wheat,  subjected  to  nature's 
infinite  variety  of  conditions  and  her  ceaseless  alterna- 
tion of  day  and  night,  cold  and  heat,  sun  and  rain, 
calm  and  storm,  present  to  us  daily  some  change  of 
form  and  hue,  some  new  phase  of  its  progressive  ex- 
istence, until  complete  maturity  is  reached  and  its 
utmost  limit  of  development  attained. 

A  still  better  analogy  may  be  drawn  from  human 
experience  itself,  from  the  constant  modification  and 
development  of  a  given  character,  subjected  to  the 
shifting  vicissitudes  and  changeful,  often  conflicting 
influences  of  daily  life.  It  is  interesting  and  helpful, 
in  studying  or  listening  to  any  work  in  the  theme  and 
variation  form,  to  conceive  of  the  theme  as  symbolizing 
a  definite  personality,  as  of  hero  or  heroine  in  a  narra- 
tive, a  personality  clearly  marked,  but  undeveloped, 
distinct  to  the  mind  of  the  composer,  and  which  the 
performer  or  hearer  should  endeavor  to  grasp  with 
equal  definiteness.  Each  variation  may  then  represent 
some  varying  phase  of  life,  some  difi'erent  experience 
or  influence,  or  emotional  condition,  bearing  upon  this 
typified  personality.  The  peculiar  mood  and  sugges- 
tive characteristics  of  each  variation  must  be  clearly 


Beethoven :  Sonata  in  A  Flat  Major      57 

perceived  and  strongly  emphasized,  and  its  due  relation 
to  the  whole  work  preserved,  while  the  underlying, 
all-pervading  theme  must  be  kept  intelligibly  recogniz- 
able through  all  its  most  capricious  and  widely  con- 
trasting modifications,  to  give  purpose  and  continuity 
to  the  whole ;  just  as  the  strongly  marked  individuality 
of  a  well-drawn  character  is  traceable  through  all  the 
manifold  vicissitudes  of  life  and  may  be  counted  on 
to  follow  out  its  own  inherent  laws  of  evolution,  no 
matter  what  the  circumstances  or  conditions  to  which 
it  may  be  subjected. 

Let  us,  in  the  case  of  this  sonata,  conceive  of  the  first 
simple  theme  as  suggesting,  through  the  subtle  symbol- 
ism of  tone  effects,  the  character  of  our  hero,  gravely 
tender,  calmly  resolute,  nobly,  warmly,  generously 
affectionate,  with  much  of  innate  strength,  tempered 
by  gentleness  and  latent  passion,  refined  by  ideality. 

In  the  first  variation  life  presents  itself  to  him  as  a 
serious  but  interesting  and  agreeable  problem,  possess- 
ing the  charm  of  mystery.  He  investigates,  speculates, 
reflects,  lingers  fascinated  upon  the  threshold  of  the 
shadowy  unknown,  enjoys  the  vague  delight  of  its 
dim  but  inviting  perspective. 

In  the  second  he  faces  storm  and  conflict,  revels  in 
the  discovery  and  fullest  exercise  of  his  own  strength 
and  courage  and  in  his  successful  wrestle  with  danger 
and  difficulty.  The  mood  here  is  bold,  heroic,  full  of 
life  and  energy. 

In  the  third  our  hero  is  suddenly  confronted  by  the 
twin  giants,  death  and  despair.  The  shadow  of  their 
sable  forms  envelops  him  with  impenetrable  gloom. 
His  soul  is  crushed  by  a  weight  as  of  a  leaden  pall, 


58     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

and  from  the  depths  it  sends  up  a  half -stifled  cry  of 
unutterable,  inarticulate  anguish,  equaled  by  nothing 
in  literature,  unless  it  may  be  by  the  verses  of  Edgar 
Allan  Poe  entitled  "The  Conqueror  Worm." 

The  fourth  variation  brings  a  reaction  toward  a 
brighter  mood,  flashes  of  sunlight  through  parting 
clouds,  fitful  gleams  of  spasmodic  gaiety,  half  hope, 
half  defiance,  showing  intermittently  against  the 
somber  background  of  grief. 

Finally,  the  fifth  and  last  variation  is  a  tender, 
cheerful  love  poem,  telling,  with  a  charming  inter- 
mingling of  fervent  warmth  and  playful  brightness,  of 
the  sovereign  magic  of  human  aff'ection,  in  which  the 
tried  spirit  has  at  last  found  solace  and  repose;  while 
the  brief  but  significant  little  coda  seems  like  a  dreamy 
retrospect,  a  tender  reminiscence  of  bygone  joys,  and 
griefs,  and  struggles,  tempered  by  distance  and  bright- 
ened by  the  light  of  present  happiness. 

If  the  work  ended  here  it  would  be  well  rounded 
and  complete,  and  it  may  be,  in  fact  often  is,  presented 
in  this  form,  entirely  omitting  the  other  three  move- 
ments. But  though  not  indispensable  to  the  sym- 
metry of  the  composition,  the  remaining  three  move- 
ments of  the  sonata  are  all  intrinsically  interesting 
and  enjoyable,  and  embody  three  radically  differing 
types  of  emotional  life.  In  them  we  are  dealing  no 
longer  with  an  individual  experience,  but  with  general 
moods,  with  abstract  elements  and  conditions. 

The  principal  subject  of  the  scherzo  is  bright, 
piquant,  exhilarating;  expressing  unmixed,  uncon- 
trolled gaiety,  toned  down  for  a  moment  in  the  trio 
to  a  touch  of  arch  tenderness,  but  immediately  break- 


Beethoven :  Sonata  in  A  Flat  Major      59 

ing  away  again  into  rollicking  hilarity.  It  should  be 
given  with  great  clearness  and  crispness,  very  little 
pedal,  and  a  clean,  sparkling  tone,  like  sharply  cut 
glass  icicles  with  the  sun  behind  them.  The  term 
scherzo  is  an  Italian  word,  signifying  a  jest,  and  all 
that  is  most  capricious,  sportive,  and  humorous  in 
music  finds  expression  in  this  form. 

The  third  movement  is  one  of  the  two  great  funeral 
marches  for  the  piano  in  existence,  the  other  being  that 
in  the  sonata,  Op.  35,  by  Chopin.  This  one  by  Beetho- 
ven is  so  forcefully  characteristic  in  mood  and  move- 
ment, so  full  of  gloomy  grandeur,  of  dramatic  intensity, 
of  depth  and  richness  of  somber  harmonic  coloring, 
that  it  may  be  ranked  among  his  very  ablest  artistic 
creations.  It  should  be  played  with  the  utmost 
fullness  and  sonority  of  tone,  but  not  extremely  loud 
even  in  the  climaxes,  and  never  hard  or  rough;  so  as 
to  convey  the  impression  of  suppressed  power  and  of  a 
noble,  sustained  sorrow,  not  a  spasmodic,  petulant 
distress.  Its  inflexible,  unvarying  rhythm  throughout 
should  suggest,  not  only  the  slow,  solemn  movement 
of  the  funeral  procession,  the  heavily  tolling  bells,  the 
awed,  hushed  grief  of  the  mourners,  but  as  well  the 
more  abstract  and  universal  thoughts  of  the  slow  but 
relentless  march  of  time  and  destiny  and  the  might 
and  majesty  of  death. 

The  last  movement  of  the  sonata  is  in  the  usual 
rondo  form,  light,  graceful,  ethereal,  with  a  certain 
subdued  cheerfulness,  telling  of  dreamy  aspiration  and 
vague,  intuitive  faith  in  ultimate  good,  of  the  airy, 
upward  flight  of  light-winged  hope  toward  a  brighter 
realm  beyond  the  grave,  where  pain  and  death  shaH 


6o      Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

be  remembered  only  as  the  minor  cadences  and  pass- 
ing dissonances  which  lead  to  the  enhanced  beauty  of 
the  final  major  harmony. 

The  sonata  as  a  whole  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
productions  of  Beethoven's  second  period,  and  is 
technically  within  the  reach  of  most  good  amateurs. 


Beethoven:    Sonata  in   D   Minor, 
Opo    31,   No.    2 


\ 


HIS  is  not  usually  considered  a  descrip- 
tive composition,  but  Beethoven, 
when  questioned  regarding  it,  an- 
swered: "Read  Shakespeare's 'Tem- 
pest.'" With  this  hint  from  the 
most  authoritative  of  all  sources, 
the  composer  himself,  we  may  easily 
trace,  if  not  a  strongly  realistic,  at 
least  a  suggestive  reference  in  the  music  to  that  most 
romantic  drama  by  the  greatest  of  English  play-writers. 
And  we  may  also  find  a  pertinent  rebuke  for  those 
who  are  inclined  to  sneer  at  the  idea  of  descriptive 
suggestion  in  music  in  general  and  in  Beethoven's 
works  in  particular,  in  spite  of  Beethoven's  own 
words:  "I  always  have  some  picture  in  mind  when  I 
write." 

The  first  movement  of  this  sonata  opens  with  an 
extremely  simple  theme,  consisting  merely  of  the 
notes  of  the  common  triad — do-mi-sol-do — a  theme  so 
bald,  so  apparently  devoid  of  beauty  and  latent  re- 
sources that  only  Beethoven  would  have  ventured  to 
use  it ;  and  only  his  genius  could  have  given  it  any  de- 
gree of  interest.     It  is  evidently  chosen  with  deliberate 

61 


62      Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

intention  to  indicate  naive  simplicity  and  natural 
primitive  conditions  of  life  in  the  island,  as  Prospero 
found  it,  with  that  half-animal,  half-savage  man, 
Caliban,  as  the  most  prominent  figure  in  it.  His 
singular,  ludicrously  grotesque  personality  may  have 
suggested  some  of  the  clumsily  rollicking  passages  in 
this  movement.  The  tempest  is  only  hinted  at,  not 
vividly  portrayed — a  tempest  in  miniature,  a  storm 
in  fairyland.  Still,  it  is  unmistakable,  though  divested 
of  all  its  terrors,  just  as  it  must  have  appeared  to 
Prospero  himself,  whose  magic  power  and  complete 
mastery  over  the  elemental  forces  placed  him  above 
and  beyond  all  fear. 

The  second  movement,  full  of  sweet  repose,  of  grave, 
tranquil  happiness,  is  like  the  hearts  of  the  two  lovers 
in  the  drama,  safe  in  the  loving  and  powerful  protec- 
tion of  Prospero,  living  close  to  the  gentle,  passionless 
breast  of  Mother  Nature,  childlike  in  their  simple 
trust,  their  spontaneous  affection,  their  simple  joy  in 
the  passing  hour.  It  seems  at  first  rather  tame  and 
colorless  to  our  modern  ears,  accustomed  to  the  cease- 
less stress  and  din  of  complex  and  conflicting  elements, 
warring  together  in  the  life  and  art  of  our  own  day; 
but  if  we  can  forget  for  a  moment  the  intensity,  the 
restless  questioning  and  striving  of  the  present  and  go 
back  in  spirit  for  a  century  or  two  to  more  normal 
conditions,  we  shall  find  this  music  restful  and  soothing 
as  the  green  sweep  of  woods  and  meadows  on  a  June 
morning  in  the  country,  after  the  glare  and  fever  of 
a  city  ball-room. 

The  closing  movement,  with  its  light,  tripping 
rhythm,  its  playful,  half-facetious  mood,  is  evidently 


Beethoven:  Sonata  in  D   Minor  63 

intended  to  recall  the  pranks  of  that  merry,  tricksy 
sprite,  Puck,  so  brimming  over  with  good-natured  fun 
and  laughing  mischief,  yet  so  ready  and  able,  at  his 
master's  command,  to  "put  a  girdle  round  the  world 
in  forty  minutes." 

The  whole  is  a  work  of  delicate  fancy  rather  than 
emotional  depth  or  dramatic  force.  It  shows  us  a 
somewhat  unusual  phase  of  Beethoven's  genius,  and 
is  but  one  more  proof  of  his  versatility,  one  more 
justification  for  his  title,  "The  Shakespeare  of  Music." 


Beethoven:    Sonata,    C    Major, 
Op.   53 


HIS  is  one  of  the  best  and  justly  most 
beloved  of  the  pianoforte  works  from 
what  is  known  as  Beethoven's 
Second  Period;  that  is  to  say,  the 
period  when  his  creative  power  was 
at  its  zenith,  when  his  genius  had 
reached  its  fullest  maturity,  yet 
showed  no  sign  of  waning;  when, 
in  its  individual  development,  it  had  outgrown  all 
youthful  crudities,  all  reminiscent  suggestions  of  older 
masters,  occasionally  to  be  found  in  his  earlier  writings, 
yet  before  it  had  lapsed  into  that  somewhat  -^.bstruse, 
metaphysical  vein  to  which  some  of  us  are  inclined 
to  object  in  his  latest  works,  in  which  individuality 
is  sometimes  exaggerated  into  eccentricity.  The  present 
writer  is  not  among  those  who  regard  his  latest  sonatas 
for  the  piano  as  in  any  sense  his  greatest  works,  and 
it  is  something  of  a  question  whether  any  pianist 
would  play  or  any  audience  tolerate  the  Op.  m,  for 
instance,  if  it  bore  any  signatm-e  but  that  of  Bee- 
thoven. The  works  of  his  second  or  middle  period 
are  instinct  with  far  more  genuine  spontaneity  and 
true  musical  effect. 


Beethoven :  Sonata,  C  Major  65 

The  Op.  53  is  familiarly  known  among  musicians 
under  two  names.  It  is  often  designated  as  the 
"Aurora  Sonata,"  because  of  its  suggestive  reference 
to,  not  to  say  actual  description  of,  those  wondrous 
fireworks  of  the  heavens,  the  northern  lights.  The 
first  movement  particularly,  with  its  constant  change 
of  key,  its  well-nigh  infinite  variety  of  light  and  shade, 
above  all,  its  constant  flash  and  play  of  scintillating 
embellishment  and  brilliant  passage  work,  cannot  fail 
to  call  up  before  the  imaginative  mind  the  varying 
hues,  the  shifting,  intermittent  splendors  of  the  aurora 
borealis,  with  its  flashes  of  crimson  and  orange,  and 
its  flickerings  of  softest  violet  and  rose. 

The  second  movement  forms  a  distinct  and  restful 
contrast  and  quiet  background  to  the  brilliancy  of 
the  first.  It  is  slow,  reposeful,  and  gravely  impressive, 
symbolizing  the  hushed  solemnity  of  the  quiet,  frost- 
clear,  winter  night. 

The  last  movement,  a  prefect  rondo  in  form,  returns 
to  the  mood  and  general  style  of  the  first.  It  is  bright 
and  crisp,  full  of  brilliant  ornamentations  and  striking 
contrasts,  and  should  be  given  with  the  idea  of  the 
northern  lights  again  distinctly  before  the  mind.  Its 
airy,  buoyant  melody,  floating  lightly  upon  swiftly 
flowing  waves  of  accompaniment,  reminding  one  of 
that  Wotan's  bridge  which  the  ancient  Northman 
fancied  he  beheld  in  the  glittering,  far-spanning  arch 
of  the  aurora,  that  bright,  but  perilous,  path  of  heroes 
from  Earth  to  Walhalla. 

This  composition  is  also  known  as  the  "Waldstein 
Sonata,"  because  dedicated  to  Count  Waldstein,  of 
Vienna,  one  of  Beethoven's  best  friends,  during  his 
5 


66     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

earlier  years  in  the  Austrian  capital.  Count  Waldstein 
was  a  descendant  of  the  famous  general  and  most 
prominent  Catholic  leader,  who  figured  so  prominently 
during  the  thirty  years'  war  in  Germany,  th^t  sanguin- 
ary struggle  between  Catholics  and  Protestants,  from 
1618  to  1648.  The  name  of  this  brilliant  lecvder,  a 
Bohemian  noble  of  vast  wealth  and  power,  and  com- 
mander of  the  Austrian  imperial  forces,  is  usually 
spelled  Wallenstein;  but  the  name  and  lineage  are 
identical  with  that  of  the  Count  to  whom  this  sonata 
is  dedicated — the  confusion  arising  from  the  difference 
between  the  German  and  Bohemian  orthography. 
The  original  Wallenstein,  though  unquestionably  a 
man  of  pronounced  intellectual  ability  and  a  devout, 
enthusiastic  Catholic,  was  a  firm  believer  in  what  we 
term  the  obsolete  science  of  astrology  and  an  earnest 
student  of  its  mysteries.  He  had  fullest  faith  in  all 
the  mystic  auguries  and  prophetic  omens  of  the  skies, 
and  never  undertook  any  important  step  without  first 
carefully  consulting  them,  aided  by  the  profounder 
knowledge  of  a  trained,  professional  astrologer,  whom 
he  always  kept  close  at  hand.  It  is  of  interest  to  note 
that  the  famous  German  scientist,  Kepler,  served  for 
many  years  as  the  private  astrologer  of  Wallenstein, 
In  the  researches  and  belief  of  Duke  Wallenstein  he 
included  every  manifestation  of  the  aurora  borealis. 
In  fact,  he  seems  to  have  laid  particular  stress  upon 
these  as  bearing  directly  upon  his  own  life  and  career, 
as  fraught  with  special  prophetic  import  for  him  per- 
sonally. It  is  a  curious  coincidence,  in  view  of  these 
facts,  that  the  most  brilliant  display  of  the  northern 
lights  recorded  for  the  first  half  of  the  seventeenth 


Beethoven :  Sonata,  C  Major  67 

century  took  place  on  the  very  evening  on  which 
Wallenstein  was  assassinated,  only  a  few  hours  prior 
to  his  murder.  In  the  light  of  his  theories  it  would 
almost  seem  like  an  attempt  of  his  old  friends  in  the 
skies  to  warn  him  of  impending  peril.  At  all  events, 
the  aurora  was,  according  to  his  belief,  an  important 
factor  in  his  life.  His  descendants,  who  naturally 
treasured  all  the  facts  and  traditions  concerning  their 
brilliant  ancestor,  would  therefore  regard  the  aurora 
with  special  interest  as  being,  in  a  certain  sense,  con- 
nected with  their  own  family  history.  It  was  for  this 
reason,  as  a  delicate  and  appropriate  compliment  to 
his  friend,  that  Beethoven,  in  writing  a  work  which 
was  to  be  dedicated  to  him,  chose  this  theme  and 
embodied  it  in  a  composition  which,  for  his  time  and 
in  view  of  the  then  prevailing  musical  conditions,  as 
well  as  the  necessary  limitations  of  the  strict  sonata 
form,  is  remarkably,  even  graphically,  descriptive. 


Beethoven:    Sonata,   E   Minor, 
Op.   90 


m 

1 

HIS  composition  is  one  of  the  shortest, 
easiest,  and,  from  the  standpoint 
of  magnitude,  least  important  of 
Beethoven's  later  works.  It  has 
but  two  movements,  neither  of  them 
of  extreme  technical  difficulty,  and 
in  structure  it  fails,  in  various  es- 
sential respects,  to  fulfil  the  require- 
ments of  the  conventional  sonata  form.  Indeed, 
the  same  may  be  said  of  many  of  his  best  known 
and  most  played  sonatas,  which  are  sonatas  only  in 
name,  according  to  the  generally  accepted  technical 
significance  of  the  term,  notably  the  Op.  26,  Op.  27, 
No.  2,  and  others.  Yet  this  little  Op.  90,  in  E  minor, 
is  among  his  most  genial,  interesting,  and  gratefully 
musical  compositions.  In  spite  of  an  occasional  touch 
of  pedantry,  it  is  full  of  melodic  charm  and  emotional 
suggestiveness.  It  is  not  descriptive  in  the  sense 
of  portraying  either  actual  scenes  or  events.  It  deals 
not  with  action,  but  with  a  series  of  varying,  strongly 
contrasted  moods. 

It  is  dedicated  to  Count  Lichnowsky,  a  resident  of 
Vienna,  with  whom  the  composer  was  intimately 
acquainted,  and  of  whose  touching  little  love  story  it 

68 


Beethoven :  Sonata,  E  Minor  69 

is  a  musical  embodiment.  The  Count's  personal  ex- 
periences of  mind  and  heart  suggested  the  work  and 
formed  its  emotional  content.  He  was  a  member  of 
one  of  the  most  aristocratic  Viennese  families,  be- 
longed to  the  highest  nobility,  and  had  inherited  a 
proud  old  name  and  vast  estates.  He  occupied  a 
lofty  position  in  both  social  and  diplomatic  circles,  but 
he  had  become  seriously  and  profoundly  attached  to  a 
young  actress  of  unquestioned  talent  and  rising  fame, 
but  of  obscure  and  very  humble  origin — a  girl  of  ex- 
ceptional beauty,  sterling  character,  and  refined,  win- 
ning personality,  but,  considered  from  the  standpoint 
of  worldly  position  and  class  traditions,  a  wholly  un- 
suitable alliance  for  the  great  noble. 

It  is  difficult  for  one  educated  in  democratic  America 
to  grasp  the  conditions  involved  in  such  a  situation, 
or  to  understand  and  to  sympathize  with  the  painful 
struggle  in  the  mind  of  the  Count,  the  maddening 
doubts,  the  heart-sick  vacillation  on  her  account,  as 
much  as  his  own,  before  the  final  decision  was  reached ; 
the  obstacles  to  be  overcome,  the  opposition  of  friends 
and  relatives  to  be  met  or  defied,  before  the  path 
could  be  cleared  to  his  desired  goal.  On  the  one 
hand,  love  and  happiness  with  the  woman  of  his 
choice;  on  the  other,  social  ostracism  for  his  future 
wife,  certainly,  and  for  himself,  probably;  serious 
detriment  to  his  promising  career;  a  life  of  constant 
battle  with  class  prejudice,  of  incessant  petty  slights 
and  mortifications;  a  position  necessarily  trying  and 
humiliating  to  both.  At  last,  however,  love  triumphed 
over  all  doubts  and  difiiculties,  as  it  always  should  and 
must  if  genuine,  and  the  wedding  took  place. 


7©     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

It  is  said,  "All  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  and  cer' 
tainly  the  story  of  true  love  victorious  over  all  oppo- 
sition is  the  oldest  and  to  most  people  the  most  in- 
teresting ever  told.  This  story,  or  at  least  the  emo- 
tions underlying  it,  expressed  in  music,  Beethoven 
gives  us  in  the  two  strongly  contrasted  movements 
of  this  little  sonata :  a  simple  drama  of  hearts,  in  two 
acts,  written  in  the  language  of  tone. 

The  first  movement  deals  with  the  period  of  doubt 
and  indecision,  of  mental  conflict  and  moody  alterna- 
tion, of  resolve  and  depression.  Its  strong,  passionate 
minor  first  subject  in  chords  expresses  the  struggle 
and  unrest,  the  indignant  protest  against  petty  preju- 
dice and  inflexible  conventionality ;  while  its  plaintive 
little  counter-theme  tells  of  tender  longings,  of  sad 
discouragements,  of  hopes  deferred  and  desire  thwarted. 
In  the  development  it  reaches  a  vigorous,  rough,  almost 
dissonant  climax,  as  of  bitter  defiance  and  fierce  scorn 
of  the  world  and  its  trammels. 

The  second  movement,  calm,  fluent,  and  sweetly 
melodious,  full  of  rest  and  tranquil  content,  deals  with 
the  period  after  love's  victory,  when  hope  has  been 
fulfilled  and  the  heart's  unrest  has  been  transformed 
to  peace  and  happiness,  where  life  flows  onward  like 
a  placid  stream,  its  waters  brightened  and  ptuified 
by  the  glad  sunlight  of  perfect  love  and  full-orbed 
happiness,  its  waves  murmiuing  the  old  yet  ever  new 
refrain,  the  simple,  nattural,  yet  magically  potent 
melody,  to  which  the  symphony  of  the  universe  is 
harmonized. 

There  is  an  occasional  brief  suggestion  of  past  strife 
and  remembered  trial,  just  sufficient  to  give  enduring 


Beethoven:  Sonata,  E  Minor  71 

zest  to  the  present,  reposeful  joy;  but,  as  a  whole, 
this  last  movement,  with  its  constantly  reiterated 
tender  yet  cheerful  major  melody,  seems  to  sing  over 
and  over,  with  trifling  variations  of  form,  but  untiring 
delight  in  its  essential  burden,  the  song  of  love's  com- 
pleteness. A  song  without  words  it  may  be,  but  with 
a  meaning  passing  words. 


Beethoven:    Music  to    "The  Ruins 
of  Athens" 


|HIS  composition,  or  rather  series  of 
fragmentary  musical  sketches,  con- 
taining some  very  original  and  telling 
movements,  is  wholly  unknown  to 
the  American  public,  and  unfamiliar 
to  most  musicians,  except  for  the 
"Turkish  Grand  March,"  the  only 
number  that  has  gained  any  con- 
siderable popularity.  "The  Ruins  of  Athens"  is  the 
name  of  a  curious  but  very  ingenious  production  for  the 
stage,  once  quite  popular  in  Germany — a  sort  of 
combination  of  the  spectacular  play,  the  musical 
melodrama  and  classical  allegory,  designated  "A 
Dramatic  Mask"  by  the  author,  a  playwright  of 
Vienna.  It  was  written  and  produced  at  a  time  when 
the  sympathies  and  interest  of  the  Christian  world 
were  strongly  enlisted  for  the  Greeks  in  their  gallant 
and  desperate  struggles  for  freedom  from  Turkish 
domination  and  oppression  which  ended  successfully 
in  1829,  after  a  contest  of  seven  years. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Athens,  then  practically  in  ruins. 
The  characters,  situations,  and  environment  are  all, 
of  course,  Greek.     To  this  work  Beethoven  furnished 

7a 


Beethoven :  Turkish  Grand  March       73 

the  music,  originally  scored  for  orchestra,  some  num- 
bers of  which  have  since  been  transcribed  for  the 
piano.  Of  these,  only  two  are  of  any  real  value  or 
importance  to  the  pianist. 


Turkish  Grand  March 

First,  the  "Turkish  Grand  March"  referred  to, 
written  to  accompany  the  march  of  the  Turkish  troops 
across  the  stage  in  one  scene.  Rubinstein,  when  in 
this  country  years  ago,  scored  many  of  his  greatest 
popular  successes  with  his  own  effective  arrangement 
of  this  number.  It  contains  no  great  originality  or 
musical  depth,  in  fact  is  quite  primitive  in  both  con- 
tent and  structure,  but  is  brilliant  and  pleasing,  with 
a  strongly  marked,  rhythmic  swing  and  a  shrill,  stri- 
dent melody  which,  in  its  intentional,  bald  simplicity, 
strongly  suggests  the  rude  but  spirited  martial  music 
of  a  half-barbaric  people,  given  by  fife  and  drum.  Its 
artistic  effectiveness  depends  upon  the  skilful  handling 
of  an  old  but  ever  popular  device,  the  audible  illusion 
of  approach  and  departure.  The  music,  beginning 
with  the  softest  possible  pianissimo,  swells  in  a  gradual, 
almost  imperceptible  crescendo,  to  the  heaviest  obtain- 
able triple  forte,  and  then  as  gradually  diminishes  to 
double  pianissimo,  tapering  off  at  last  into  silence; 
thus  simulating  the  approach  of  marching  troops  from 
a  distance  nearer  and  nearer,  till  they  pass  across  the 
stage  in  immediate  proximity,  and  then  their  gradual 
receding  till  lost  again  in  the  distance.  It  is  a  device 
of  which  many  composers  have  availed  themselves, 
and  makes  great  demands   upon  the  player's   self- 


74     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

control  and  sense  of  proportion  and  gradation,  as  well 
as  his  command  of  the  tonal  resoiu-ces  of  his  instru- 
ment. 

The  Dance  of  the  Dervishes 

By  far  the  most  original  of  these  numbers  is  "The 
Dance  of  the  Dervishes,"  the  second  one  referred  to. 
This  brief  but  complete  composition  is  full  of  striking 
originality  and  graphic  realism.  It  is  one  in  which 
Beethoven's  genius  seems  to  have  anticipated  by  half 
a  century  the  pronounced  modem  trend  toward  de- 
scriptive or  program  music,  and  is  as  realistic  a  tone- 
painting  as  we  might  expect  from  the  pen  of  Saint- 
Saens,  Wagner,  or  any  of  the  recent  writers.  The  dance 
was  introduced  into  the  play  as  an  interesting  local 
feature, — the  dervishes  being  numerous  in  connection 
with  the  Turkish  army, — and  Beethoven  naturally 
selected  it  as  an  effective  subject  for  musical  treatment. 
But,  before  speaking  of  their  dancing  as  illustrated  by 
Beethoven,  it  may  be  of  sufficient  historical  interest  to 
give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  dervishes  themselves. 

They  developed  as  a  sect  or  order  from  Moham- 
medanism after  it  was  well  established  in  the  world. 
The  name  "dervishes,"  which  they  assumed,  comes 
from  a  Russian  word  which  means  "beggars  from  door 
to  door."  The  Arabic  word  which  means  the  same 
thing  is  "fakirs."  So  they  are  called  dervishes  or 
fakirs  in  different  localities,  but  are  the  same  body. 
They  declared  themselves  Moslems,  but  their  doctrines, 
in  many  respects,  differed  widely  from  those  of  Moham- 
med. Their  beginnings  are  in  obscurity,  but  they 
were  a  well-established  order  by  the  eleventh  century. 


The  Dance  of  the  Dervishes  75 

Their  expressed  beliefs,  as  we  earliest  come  to  know 
them,  were  chiefly  and  decidedly  religious.  They 
seemed  to  represent  the  spiritual  and  mystical  side  of 
Islam,  having  a  philosophy  much  like  that  of  the 
Hindus,  and  perhaps  borrowed  from  them.  Their 
central  idea  seemed  to  be  that  the  soul  is  an  emana- 
tion from  God,  and  that  man's  highest  aim  is  to  seek 
a  total  absorption  in  Him.  Their  various  and  strange 
rites  and  ceremonies  seem  only  different  ways  by 
which  they  sought  for  union  with  the  deity.  In  this 
way  they  claimed  that  they  secured  miraculous  powers. 
At  first  they  largely  lived  in  convents,  under  rules  and 
orders,  giving  themselves  up  to  meditation  and  pen- 
ance, observing  the  rules  of  poverty,  abstinence  from 
wine,  and  celibacy,  in  the  higher  classes.  Their  growth 
was  rapid;  but  in  time  they  largely  fell  away  from 
their  highest  estate,  ceased  to  be  so  strictly  a  religious 
body,  broke  up  into  various  ranks  and  sub-orders, 
became  more  free  from  conventional  rules,  more 
nomadic,  and  more  wild  and  fanatical ;  but  their  social 
and  political  influence  ever  increased,  so  that  they 
have  long  been  regarded  as  a  dangerous  element  in 
the  state.  There  are  crowds  of  them  all  through  the 
East  that  seem  to  belong  to  no  society,  wandering 
mendicants,  and,  though  often  skilled  in  trades,  largely 
subsisting  by  professional  jugglery,  bigoted  in  their 
fantastic  beliefs,  and  varying  in  their  rites  and  strange 
ceremonies.  And  yet  always  and  everywhere  there 
is  still  some  general  adherence  to  the  old  appointed 
religious  ways,  a  peculiar  tie  or  affiliation  with  the 
distinctive  body  or  sect,  however  differing  in  certain 
notions  or  modes  of  worship.     The  lowest  devotee  of 


76     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

them  all  claims  that  the  dervishes  or  fakirs  constitute 
a  distinct  body  of  religious  believers  in  spite  of  all 
divisions  and  varieties  in  manifestation.  They  ac- 
knowledge no  authority  but  that  of  their  spiritual 
guides,  as  that  of  the  Mahdi  in  the  Soudan,  where 
these  fanatics  have  been  so  lately  fighting  the  English. 
They  agree  also  in  not  following  the  letter  of  the  Koran, 
or  the  general  teachings  of  its  interpreters.  As  a 
whole  body,  in  all  its  orders,  all  over  the  world,  they 
seek,  as  an  act  of  worship,  to  get  into  an  ecstatic  state. 
They  do  this  in  various  ways :  Sometimes  by  drinking 
hasheesh,  but  more  generally  by  some  physical  or  men- 
tal ways,  and  while  under  the  excitement  they  perform 
astounding  feats  in  jugglery  or  mysticism  that  really 
seem  almost  miraculous.  We  cannot  stop  to  detail 
these  different  methods.  One  of  them  is  the  dance 
of  a  certain  order  which  has  received  the  name  of  the 
"dancing  or  whirling  dervishes." 

This  is  the  dance  of  Beethoven — an  ingenious  method 
of  excitement  and  self-torture,  and  at  the  same  time 
a  strict  religious  ceremonial.  It  consists  of  little  more 
than  an  exceedingly  rapid  gyration  upon  an  imaginary 
pivot,  spinning  round  and  round  like  tops,  with  almost 
incredible  velocity,  till  overcome  by  dizziness  from  the 
protracted  rotary  motion,  or  by  physical  exhaustion, 
they  fall  in  a  swoon,  after  passing  through  all  the 
successive  stages  of  delirious  frenzy  always  attending 
intense  fanatical  religious  excitement,  no  matter  what 
the  race  or  faith.  The  dance  is  accompanied  by 
frantic  gestures,  wild  cries,  and  doleful  groans,  and 
often  by  a  species  of  weird  oriental  music,  adapted  to 
its  rhythm,  and  intended  to  stimulate  the  dancers  to 


The  Dance  of  the  Dervishes  77 

greater  excitement,  and  consequently  greater  exertion 
and  speed. 

This  music,  as  well  as  a  portrayal  of  the  dance, 
Beethoven  gives  us  in  this  composition,  which  has  been 
admirably  transcribed  for  the  piano  by  Saint-Saens. 
It  begins  softly  and  a  little  slowly.  As  the  dancers 
gradually  get  under  way  and  warmed  to  their  task, 
it  gradually  grows  in  speed  and  power  as  the  frenzy 
increases,  till  it  reaches  a  furious,  almost  insane  climax ; 
then  rapidly  diminishes  as,  one  by  one,  the  dancers, 
exhausted  or  swooning,  drop  out  of  the  circle. 

It  demands  great  freedom  and  facility  in  octave 
playing,  and  endless  verve  and  abandon  of  style;  and 
needs,  to  be  comprehended  and  enjoyed  by  an  audi- 
ence, some  explanation  of  its  character  and  artistic 
signification,  either  given  by  the  player  or  printed  on 
the  program. 


me 


Weber:    Invitation   to    the    Dance, 
Op.  65 


RITICS  have  generally  ascribed  to  this 
composition  the  honor  of  inaugurat- 
ing a  new  and  important  department 
in  the  realm  of  tonal  creation — 
namely,  that  of  descriptive  or  pro- 
gram music;  that  is  to  say,  music 
which  attempts  to  embody  in  tone 
something  more  than  mere  ideal 
beauty  of  metrical  form  and  rhythmic  symmetry,  and 
to  express  something  more  than  vague  emotional  states, 
too  intangible  for  utterance  in  words;  music  which 
conveys  not  only  sensuous  pleasure  and  indefinite 
moods,  but  a  distinct,  realistic  suggestion;  which 
gives,  against  a  background  of  harmony,  with  its 
general  emotional  coloring,  an  actual  picture  of 
some  scene  in  nature  or  experience  in  life;  music,  in 
a  word,  which  takes  its  place  in  line  with  the  advanced 
position  of  the  other  arts,  in  progress  toward  dramatic 
truth  and  worthy  realism.  Descriptive  music,  like 
landscape  painting,  has  been  the  latest,  and  in  some 
respects  the  loftiest,  phase  of  the  art  to  be  developed. 
We  can  scarcely  with  justice  credit  to  Weber,  as  a 
6  81 


82     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

strictly  original  departure,  the  opening  of  this  new 
path  in  the  domain  of  musical  art,  which  was  in  modern 
times  to  lead  so  far  and  to  such  important  and  mag- 
nificent results.  Descriptive  music,  of  a  more  or  less 
pronounced  character,  had  already  appeared  from 
time  to  time,  though  rarely  so  labeled,  and  mostly  in 
detached  fragments,  in  the  works  of  most  of  the 
greatest  composers,  preeminently  in  those  of  Haydn, 
Mozart,  Gluck,  and  Beethoven.  Even  the  austere 
Handel  was  not  entirely  free  from  occasional  digres- 
sions into  this  field.  But  we  may  safely  ascribe  to 
Weber  the  honor  of  being  one  of  the  first  to  have  the 
full  courage  of  his  convictions  and  to  declare  himself 
boldly  for  this  phase  of  creative  art,  by  giving  to  this 
distinctly  descriptive  composition  an  unmistakably 
descriptive  title,  thus  fearlessly  unveiling  and  empha- 
sizing its  realistic  intentions. 

The  work  opens  with  a  simple  but  serious  passage 
of  recitative  in  single  notes,  in  the  baritone  register, 
conveying  the  ' '  Invitation  to  the  Dance  "  as  if  by  a  mel- 
low masculine  voice.  Then  comes  the  reply,  in  a  soft 
soprano,  brief,  kindly,  but  as  if  offering  some  playful 
objection,  as  the  lady,  true  to  her  sex,  waits  to  be 
asked  a  second  time  before  saying  yes.  The  invitation 
is  repeated  more  urgently,  followed  by  the  assenting 
treble,  as  the  lady  steps  upon  the  floor  on  the  arm  of 
her  partner.  A  brief  dialogue  ensues,  in  which  the 
two  voices  can  be  distinctly  traced  by  their  differing 
registers,  alternating  and  interwoven,  as  the  pair  pace 
the  polished  floor,  exchanging  those  airy  nothings 
of  the  ball-room.  Then  the  orchestra  enters,  with  a 
passage  of  brilliant  resonant  chords,  full  of  spirited 


Weber:   Invitation  to  the   Dance  83 

life  and  gay  challenge,  calling  the  dancers  to  their 
places,  and  the  waltz  proper  begins.  Its  crisp,  piquant 
rhythm  and  free  elasticity  of  movement,  its  bright, 
graceful  melody  and  cheerful  major  harmony,  all 
express  youthful  elation,  fresh,  joyous  excitement, 
thoughtless,  hence  unmixed,  gaiety. 

As  the  steps  and  the  pulses  quicken,  there  comes  on 
that  exhilaration  of  mood  familiar  to  all  dancers, 
caused  by  the  lights,  the  flowers,  the  perfumes,  the 
music,  the  gay  costumes,  the  beauty  and  the  gallantry 
of  a  ball-room,  the  rhythmic  exercise  of  the  muscles 
and  free  circulation  of  the  blood,  all  acting  together 
to  produce  upon  the  senses  and  the  fancy  an  effect 
amounting  almost  to  intoxication ;  an  echo  of  which  is 
awakened  in  every  breast,  which  has  felt  it  often  and 
keenly,  on  catching  a  strain  of  distant  dance  music,  to 
the  end  of  life.  This  mood  is  depicted  in  the  compo- 
sition before  us  by  an  exuberance  of  runs  and  orna- 
mentation, following  the  first  simple  enunciation  of 
the  waltz  melody. 

After  rising  to  quite  a  little  climax  of  ecstasy,  this 
mood  lapses  abruptly  into  the  second  waltz  theme, 
slower,  more  lyric,  dreamy,  languorous,  almost  melan- 
choly in  tone,  conveying  that  impression  which  every 
susceptible  person  feels,  to  the  verge  of  rising  tears, 
after  listening  long  to  waltz  music,  which  is  quite 
different  from  its  first  inspiring  effect,  and  which  every 
devoted  dancer  feels  equally  surely  in  the  prolonged 
waltz.  The  time  has  come  when  one  has  grown  so 
accustomed  to  the  waltz  movement  as  to  be  scarcely 
conscious  of  it,  seems  rather,  in  a  state  of  rhythmic 
rest,  to  be  floating  on  the  atmosphere,  which  ebbs  and 


84     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

flows  to  a  three-four  measure.  Thoughts,  breath, 
pulses,  flying  feet,  the  miu-mur  of  voices,  all  existence 
has  adapted  itself  to  this  waltz  tempo,  as  to  its  normal 
element,  and  the  very  planets  seem  to  swing  through 
space  in  triple  rhythm.  The  true  waltz  has  but  two 
moods,  which  touch  the  opposite  poles  of  emotion — 
that  of  joyous  elation  and  of  dreamy  languor.  We 
may  call  them  the  Allegro  and  the  Penseroso  of  the 
waltz.  And  Weber,  in  the  "Invitation  to  the  Dance," 
has  recognized  this  and  woven  his  composition  of  but 
two  themes,  representing  the  contrasting  phases  of 
feeling  described. 

In  the  midst  of  the  second  warm  and  sinuous  melody, 
we  hear  again  the  masculine  voice,  in  less  conventional 
accents,  and  the  soft  responses  of  the  treble,  through 
quite  a  colloquy,  while  the  accompaniment  keeps  ever 
steadily  to  the  undulating  waltz  movement,  till  the 
two  voices  merge  gradually  into  the  general  murmur 
and  are  drowned  in  the  flourishes  of  the  orchestra, 
as  oiu*  couple  disappears  in  the  whirl,  with  which 
the  waltz,  taking  up  again  the  first  sparkling  melody 
with  accelerated  pace,  draws  with  increasing  confu- 
sion to  its  close.  When  the  dance  has  ceased,  and 
the  orchestra  is  silent,  the  introductory  theme  recurs, 
as  the  gentleman  leads  his  lady  to  a  seat  and  expresses 
his  thanks  with  the  sedate  courtesy  of  his  first  greeting ; 
and  thus  ends  this  charming  composition  and  this 
glimpse  into  that  gay  social  world,  where  the  hand 
some,  talented,  but  rather  dissolute  young  composer 
was  only  too  great  a  favorite  in  his  early  years. 

In  spite  of  a  certain  baldness  and  primitive  naivete 
noticeable  in  the  treatment  at  times,  the  ' '  Invitation  to 


Weber:  Invitation  to  the  Dance  85 

the  Dance,"  so  widely  and  justly  popular,  is  one  of 
Weber's  ablest  pianoforte  compositions,  both  from  a 
musical  and  a  dramatic  standpoint.  Regarded  from 
that  of  pure  music,  it  is  especially  interesting  from  the 
fact  that  it  was  the  first  composition  to  raise  the  waltz, 
used  up  to  that  time  only  as  an  accompaniment  for 
dancing,  to  the  level  of  legitimate  and  recognized 
artistic  musical  forms.  In  the  hands  of  Schubert, 
Chopin,  Strauss,  Rubinstein,  and  Moszkowski,  these 
successive  kings  of  the  waltz,  it  has  since  reached  its 
present  development. 

The  "Invitation  to  the  Dance"  was  written  a  few 
months  after  Weber's  happy  marriage  with  the  opera 
singer,  Caroline  Brandt,  and  is  dedicated  to  "My 
Caroline." 


Weber:    Rondo  in  E  Flat,  Op.  62 


HE  rondo  is  the  most  ancient,  simple, 
and  natural  form  of  homophonic 
musical  construction.  It  is  based 
upon  the  folk-song  and  is  always 
in  one  or  the  other  of  the  more  or 
less  complex  song  forms.  It  consists 
of  a  simple  melodic  period,  usually 
eight  measures  in  length,  bright 
and  cheerful  in  character,  alternating  several  times, 
virtually  unchanged  at  each  reappearance,  with  one 
or  more  subordinate  subjects,  in  a  more  lyric  or 
dramatic  mood,  for  the  sake  of  variety  and  contrast. 
An  apt  but  homely  illustration  of  the  rondo  may  be 
found  in  that  most  laborious  and  indigestible  product 
of  American  cookery,  that  culinary  absurdity,  originat- 
ing in  our  natural  tendency  toward  display  and  dys- 
pepsia, the  layer  cake.  In  the  most  primitive  form 
of  rondo,  or  more  strictly  speaking,  rondino,  the  first 
theme  appears  but  twice,  corresponding  to  a  first  and 
second  layer  of  cake,  with  the  filling  of  cream  or  jelly 
between,  represented  by  the  second  contrasting  sub- 
ject, of  a  more  piquant  and  savory  flavor,  between  the 
first  theme  and  its  reappearance — a  sort  of  musical 
Washington  pie.     In  the  more  extended  forms,  the 

86 


Weber:  Rondo  in  E  Flat  87 

principal  melody  recurs  several  times,  occasionally 
with  slight  changes  of  treatment,  but  without  radical 
transformation  or  development,  like  a  successive 
series  of  cake  layers  of  slightly  dijQferent  flavor,  but 
the  same  fundamental  material  and  an  entirely  different 
filling  between  them,  each  time ;  and  a  coda,  or  musical 
postscript,  is  occasionally  added  by  way  of  frosting 
over  the  whole. 

The  rondo  form  is  by  nature  adapted  to  the  expres- 
sion of  the  lighter,  more  pleasurable  emotions.  Grace- 
ful fancy,  playful  tenderness,  arch  coquetry,  sparkling 
vivacity,  here  find  their  most  ready  and  appropriate 
embodiment.  The  form  is  sometimes  employed  to 
express  pensive  sadness  or  restless,  impatient  longing, 
but  never  effectively  to  utter  grave,  profound  thought 
or  grand  and  lofty  sentiment.  Hence  it  most  fre- 
quently appears  as  the  final  movement  of  symphony 
or  sonata,  a  sort  of  light,  pleasant  dessert  after  the 
more  substantial  repast. 

Rondo  is  one  of  those  words  of  many  relatives,  both 
in  our  own  English  and  other  languages.  Probably 
the  great-grandfather  of  them  all  is  the  Latin  rotundus, 
and  probably  the  first  emigrant  to  America,  in  the 
musical  line  of  descent,  was  the  old-fashioned  round, 
familiar  to  our  ancestors.  Cousins  and  other  close 
connections  of  the  rondo  are  in  music  the  roundelay 
and  in  poetry  the  rondeau,  rondel,  and  roundel,  all 
bearing  a  striking  family  resemblance  both  in  external 
featiu'es  and  inward  characteristics. 

The  poet  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne,  in  his  "Cen- 
tury of  Roundels,"  presents  to  us  many  charming 
representatives  of  this  most  modern  branch  of  the 


88     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

family.  The  following  verses,  quoted  from  the  work 
mentioned,  are  the  best  possible  descriptive  illustra- 
tion of  the  form,  scope,  and  characteristics  of  both 
the  roimdel  in  poetry  and  the  rondo  in  music: 

"THE  ROUNDEL. 
*•  A  Roundel  is  wrought  as  a  ring  or  a  star-bright  sphere, 
With  craft  of  delight  and  with  cunning  of  sound  unsought. 
That  the  heart  of  the  hearer  may  smile  if  to  pleasure  his  ear 
A  Roundel  is  wrought 

*•  Its  jewel  of  music  is  carven  of  all  or  of  aught- 
Love,  laughter,  or  mourning — remembrance  or  fear- 
That  fancy  may  fashion  to  hang  in  the  ear  of  thought. 

*'As  the  bird's  quick  song  runs  round,  and  the  hearts  in  us  hear 
Pause  answer  to  pause,  and  again  the  same  strain  caught 
So  moves  the  device  whence,  round  as  a  pearl  or  tear, 
A  Roundel  is  wrought." 

The  E  flat  rondo  of  Weber  is  a  fine  specimen  of  its 
class,  perfect  and  considerably  complex  in  form  and 
charmingly  exhilarating  in  mood,  with  just  enough 
of  dramatic  suggestion  to  give  the  necessary  contrast 
of  shading.  It  is  neither  distinctly  descriptive  nor 
deeply  emotional.  It  pleases  like  a  piece  of  rare  old 
lace  or  hand  embroidery,  rather  than  like  a  picture 
or  poem,  by  its  delicate  workmanship,  its  fine  finish, 
and  its  beautiful,  skilfully  combined  materials.  Its 
mission  is  to  charm  the  esthetic  taste,  like  some  dainty 
little  Italian  villa  of  variegated  marbles,  half  hidden  in 
a  grove  of  olive  and  orange  trees,  by  its  symmetry  of 
outline,  its  harmony  of  varied  colors,  and  the  simple, 
joyous,  sunshiny  life  and  love  of  life  which  it  suggests, 


Weber:  Rondo  in  E  Flat  89 

rather  than  to  arouse  the  intellect  or  stir  the  depths 
of  feeling  by  historic  or  legendary  association  with 
vivid  or  tragic  human  interests. 

This  composition  should  be  played  freely  and 
fluently,  with  a  certain  gaiety  and  vivacity,  but  at 
a  reasonably  moderate  tempo,  with  a  tone  crisp  and 
sparkling,  not  dry,  yet  not  too  legato;  clear,  but  not 
heavy.  The  player  should  employ  few,  if  any,  of 
the  modem  rubato  effects  and  be  careful  to  avoid 
blurred  or  too  close  pedaling,  especially  in  the  first 
subject.  A  somewhat  slower  tempo  and  more  decided 
lyric  effect  should  be  introduced  when  the  left-hand 
theme  in  B  flat  major  occurs,  and  still  more  during  the 
suggestion  of  dramatic  recitative,  alternating  between 
the  two  hands,  which  opens  with  the  half  note  in  the 
right  hand  on  G  flat,  A  natural,  and  E  flat.  But,  as 
a  whole,  the  tempo  should  be  kept  very  steady,  and 
a  strongly  marked  rhythmic  distinctness  and  precision 
are  absolute  essentials  in  the  proper  presentation  of 
this,  as  of  all  Weber's  works. 


Weber:    Concertstiick  in  F  Minor 
Op.  79 


LTHOUGH  written  for  piano  and 
orchestra,  and  still  occasionally 
given  as  a  concerto  in  symphony 
concerts,  this  work  is  more  familiar 
and  more  frequently  heard  as  a 
piano  solo  merely,  or  with  the 
orchestral  parts  arranged  for  second 
piano,  in  which  form  it  is  very 
popular,  especially  for  use  in  pupils'  recitals  and 
music  schools.  It  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  effective 
of  Weber's  compositions  for  piano,  and  one  of  the 
most  successful  of  his  attempts  in  the  line  of  descrip- 
tive music,  in  which  he  was  a  pioneer ;  for  as  Sir  George 
Grove  well  says,  ' '  His  talent  shone  most  conspicuously 
whenever  he  had  a  poetical  idea  to  interpret  musically." 
On  the  subject  of  this  concerto,  he  continues :  "Though 
complete  in  itself  as  a  piece  of  music,  it  is  prompted 
by  a  poetical  idea,  for  a  whole  dramatic  scene  was  in 
the  composer's  mind  when  he  wrote  it.  .  .  .  The 
part  which  the  different  movements  take  in  this  pro- 
gram is  obvious  enough,  but  a  knowledge  of  the  pro- 
gram adds  greatly  to  the  pleasure  of  listening." 

90 


Weber :  Concertstiick  in  F  Minor        91 

It  is  rare  indeed  to  find  in  print  any  accurate  and 
detailed  information  concerning  the  artistic  and 
dramatic  content  of  any  particular  composition;  but 
in  regard  to  this  Concertstiick  by  Weber,  we  are 
fortunate  enough  to  have  the  whole  story  on  which 
the  music  was  founded  given  in  the  words  of  Benedict, 
who  had  it  from  the  composer  himself. 

"The  chatelaine  sits  alone  on  her  balcony,  gazing 
far  away  into  the  distance.  Her  knight  has  gone  to 
the  Holy  Land.  Years  have  passed  by,  battles  have 
been  fought.  Is  he  still  alive?  Will  she  ever  see  him 
again?  Her  excited  imagination  calls  up  a  vision  of 
her  husband,  lying  wounded  and  forsaken  on  the 
battlefield.  Can  she  not  fly  to  him  and  die  by  his 
side?  She  falls  back  unconscious.  But  hark!  What 
notes  are  those  in  the  distance?  Over  there  in  the 
forest  something  flashes  in  the  sunlight — nearer  and 
nearer!  Knights  and  squires  with  the  cross  of  the 
crusaders,  banners  waving,  acclamations  of  the  people. 
And  there,  it  is  he !  She  sinks  into  his  arms.  Love  is 
triumphant.  Happiness  without  end.  The  very 
woods  and  waves  sing  the  song  of  love.  A  thousand 
voices  proclaim  his  victory." 

The  composition  is  in  four  movements,  and  it  is 
hardly  necessary  to  add  that  the  first,  larghetto,  repre- 
sents the  sorrowful  meditation  of  the  lonely  chatelaine 
upon  her  balcony;  the  second,  allegro,  her  lively  im- 
agination picturing  her  lord  upon  the  field  of  battle; 
the  third,  march,  the  tramp  of  the  returning  crusaders 
with  flying  banners ;  and  the  fourth,  finale,  the  reunion 
when  "the  very  woods  and  waves  sing  the  song  of 
love." 


92     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

Those  Philistines  who  contend  that  program  music 
is  but  a  mushroom  growth  of  the  last  decades  of  the 
nineteenth  century  will  hardly  care  to  come  face  to 
face  with  this  instance  of  it,  backed  by  the  authority 
of  Grove,  Benedict,  and  von  Weber,  and  nearly  a 
hundred  years  old. 


Weber-KuUak:    Liitzow's  Wilde 
Jagd,  Op.  Ill,  No.  4 


MONG  the  better  class  of  rather  old- 
fashioned  but  effective  transcrip- 
tions for  the  piano,  which  have 
fallen  somewhat  into  neglect  of 
later  years,  Kullak's  pianoforte 
version  of  Weber's  "Liitzow's  Wild 
Ride"  deserves  attention. 

The  original  ballad,  which  formed 
the  text  of  Weber's  song,  was  one  of  the  best  of  many 
of  similar  character  by  Karl  Theodor  Korner,  that 
trumpet-voiced  Swabian  poet,  the  popular  idol  of  his 
time  in  southern  Germany,  who  sounded  the  notes  of 
patriotism,  conflict,  and  heroism  in  simple  but  ringing 
verses,  which  still  echo  in  the  hearts  of  his  country- 
men, and  which  describe  the  scenes,  and  glow  with  the 
fervid  spirit  of  the  century's  dawn. 

Major  Liitzow,  the  hero  of  the  ballad,  was  an  officer 
in  the  Prussian  Hussars  during  the  brief  and  disastrous 
struggle  with  Napoleon  in  1813,  when  his  country 
went  down,  crushed  well-nigh  out  of  existence,  by  the 
invincible  power  and  iron  hand  of  the  all-conquering 
Emperor.     When    Berlin   surrendered,    the    Prussian 

93 


94     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

army  was  disarmed  and  disbanded,  and  the  King, 
Frederick  William  III,  was  forced  to  accept  with  thanks 
the  most  humiliating  conditions  of  peace;  and  even 
the  beautiful  Queen  Louisa,  the  people's  beloved 
divinity,  had  to  humble  herself  in  her  despair  to  beg 
from  the  generosity  of  the  victor  the  most  ordinary 
concessions  to  the  vanquished.  Major  Liitzow  in 
dignantly  repudiated  the  disgraceful  treaty  and  openly 
defied  the  vengeance  of  the  great  Napoleon.  Rallymg 
a  few  of  his  gallant  riders  about  him,  he  escaped 
to  the  forests,  and  there  organized  a  guerrilla  band, 
for  months  waging  a  phenomenally  desperate  but 
successful  war  on  his  own  account  with  the  world's 
conqueror  and  his  matchless  army. 

Liitzow  and  his  "Black  Riders"  were  soon  known  far 
and  near,  the  hope  and  pride  of  friends,  the  terror  of 
foes;  and  hundreds  of  the  best  martial  spirits  of  Ger- 
many flocked  to  his  standard.  He  pushed  his  daring 
raids  even  across  the  Rhine  into  France,  sweeping 
down  like  a  whirlwind  apparently  from  the  sky,  at  the 
most  unexpected  times  and  places,  leaving  consterna- 
tion and  destruction  in  his  track,  and  was  gone  again 
before  the  French  could  rally  to  oppose  him.  Soon  the 
belief  spread  that  the  "Black  Riders"  were  a  super- 
natm-al  phenomenon,  an  incarnation  of  the  bloody  spirit 
of  the  time,  half  men,  half  demons,  bearing  charmed 
lives,  ignoring  time,  distance,  and  other  human  limita- 
tions, and  liable  to  appear  at  any  moment,  without 
warning,  in  the  midst  of  the  imperial  camp,  or  in  the 
heart  of  Paris.  Their  very  name  was  enough  to  shake 
the  nerves  of  the  bravest  veteran. 

This  element  of  the  supernatural  Korner  has  ingeni- 


Weber- Kullak :  Liitzow's  Wilde  Jagd      95 

ously  worked  into  the  ballad,  and  it  adds  materially  to 
the  thrilling  power  of  the  heroic  narration,  though  it 
is  used,  and  very  judiciously,  not  in  the  form  of  posi- 
tive statement,  but  in  a  mood  of  shuddering  inquiry 
and  doubt. 

Weber,  in  his  vocal  setting  of  the  ballad,  with  his 
usual  ability  in  grasping  and  utilizing  every  realistic 
suggestion  of  his  subject,  has  emphasized  both  the 
martial  and  the  spectral  phases  of  the  theme,  treating 
with  equal  skill  the  spirit  of  martial  daring  and  heroic 
patriotism  which  spoke  in  Liitzow's  deeds,  and  the 
supernatural  terrors  which  they  awoke.  One  moment 
the  "Black  Huntsmen"  sweep  by  us  across  some  open 
moonlit  plain,  with  a  wild  haste,  with  the  clang  of  saber, 
the  ring  of  bugle,  and  the  tramp  of  rushing  steeds; 
the  next  they  flit  before  us  through  the  gloom  of  the 
forests,  vague,  mysterious,  like  the  indistinct  phantoms 
of  war.  The  distinct  imitation  of  the  rhythmic  beat 
of  galloping  hoofs,  so  frequent  a  device  in  descriptive 
music,  is  effectively  utilized  here  in  accompaniment, 
while  the  melody  of  the  song,  full  of  trumpet-like  sugges- 
tions, is  raid  to  consist  in  part  of  actual  bugle  calls 
which  v/ere  used  among  Liitzow's  raiders. 

Kullak,  in  his  instrumental  transcription,  while  pre- 
serving with  artistic  fidelity  the  composer's  intention 
in  all  the  original  effects  of  the  song,  has  broadened, 
enriched,  and  intensified  them,  and  at  the  same  time 
adapted  them  cleverly  to  the  resources  of  the  piano. 
In  places  they  may  be  still  further  enhanced  by  pla3'ing, 
as  I  would  recommend  to  those  possessing  sufficient 
technic  for  it,  all  the  scale  passages  for  both  hands 
in  octaves,  instead  of  single  notes,  as  they  are  written, 


96     Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

thus  adding  volume  and  brilliancy  to  the  work  as  a 
whole. 

The  introduction,  in  rapid  triplets,  with  marked 
accentuation,  reproducing  the  exact  rhythm  of  the 
gallop  of  horses,  should  begin  softly,  as  if  distant,  and 
rise  in  a  steady  crescendo  to  a  strong  climax,  suggest- 
ing the  swift  approach  of  a  troop  of  riders;  then  the 
melody  enters,  bold  and  distinct,  as  if  in  trumpet 
tones,  or  given  by  the  resonant  voices  of  the  dashing 
troopers.  The  piece  must  be  varied  by  frequent  and 
marked  contrasts ;  now  a  trumpet-call,  clear  and  sharp, 
answered  by  a  distant  echo;  now  a  whispered  hint  of 
spectral  terrors;  again  the  sweep  and  rush,  the  clash 
and  clamor,  the  delirious  excitement  of  the  impetuous 
charge. 

The  exultant  climax,  at  the  close,  well  expresses 
the  sentiment  of  the  final  verse  of  the  ballad : 

'•The  Fatherland  is  free,  famous,  and  triumphant, 
Glory  to  the  heroes  whose  blood  has  bought  the  victory !  " 

This  composition  of  Weber's,  when  given  by  a 
rousing,  ringing,  full-voiced  male  chorus  of  Germans, 
stirs  the  martial  spirit  in  every  breast,  just  as  the 
Marseillaise  fires  the  blood  of  the  French.  In  its  piano 
transcription,  by  Kullak,  I  recommend  it  to  every 
player  and  teacher  who  is  seeking  something  which  is 
very  difficult  to  find — namely:  a  good  and  effective 
number,  martial  and  rhythmic  in  character,  which  is 
of  real  merit,  and  is  a  novelty  to  the  audience  of  to-day, 
and  yet  has  a  classic  name  attached.  It  is  admirably 
adapted  to  close  a  program  or  to  end  a  group  of  several 
shorter  compositions  of  varying  mood. 


I7S7 


IIZS 


Schubert:    (Impromptu   B   Flat) 

Theme  and  Variations,  Op. 

142,  No.  3 


RANZ  SCHUBERT,  the  golden  sands 
of  whose  brief  existence,  rich  with 
the  jewel  gleams  of  genius,  ran  all 
too  swiftly  through  the  glass  of 
time,  between  the  years  1797  and 
1828,  may  be  considered,  if  not  the 
strongest,  certainly  the  most  genial, 
fluent,  and  spontaneous  composer 
of  the  modem  Romantic  School,  which  arose  and 
flourished  so  luxuriantly  during  the  vigorous  youth 
of  our  own  century.  He  is  most  generally  known 
as  the  master  of  the  German  "Lied"  or  song.  This 
brief,  concise,  epigrammatic  form  of  condensed 
musical  expression,  though  not,  of  course,  original 
with  Schubert,  received  at  his  hand  its  fullest 
development,  its  highest  perfection,  both  as  regards 
intrinsic  beauty  and  dramatic  precision;  while  in 
quantity,  as  well  as  quality,  he  far  surpasses  all  com- 
petitors in  this  vein  of  creative  work.  There  are 
something  like  600  of  these  songs  from  his  pen,  and 

99 


lOO  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

Buch  was  his  fluent  versatility  of  production,  that  he  is 
known  to  have  completed  seven  of  these  inimitable 
musical  gems  in  one  day.  His  instrumental  composi- 
tions, whether  for  orchestra  or  piano,  though  far  less 
numerous,  are  for  the  most  part  equally  able  and 
effective,  and  deserve  a  much  more  frequent  hearing 
in  the  concert-room  than  they  at  present  receive,  dis- 
playing, as  they  do,  to  the  full,  his  inventive  spon- 
taneity, his  inexhaustible  fund  of  fresh,  original 
melody,  and  the  peculiar,  tender,  poetic  grace  of  his 
style. 

Most  of  Schubert's  best  known  pianoforte  works, 
like  the  composition  under  discussion,  belong  to  the 
smaller,  more  modest,  and  unpretentious  forms.  They 
are  eminently  soft,  sweet,  and  winning,  rarely  ex- 
hibiting that  breadth,  grandeur,  and  passionate  inten- 
sity with  which  such  composers  as  Chopin,  Schumann, 
and  Liszt  have  made  us  familiar.  But  who  would 
despise  the  wood  anemone  because  it  chances  not  to 
possess  the  voluptuous  perfume  of  the  queenly  rose 
or  the  gorgeous  hues  of  the  wizard  poppy  ? 

The  "theme  and  variations,"  of  which  this  work  is 
an  excellent  example,  is  one  of  the  most  ancient, 
natural,  and  logical  forms  of  musical  construction.  A 
simple  melody,  clearly  enunciated  at  the  beginning,  is 
used  by  the  composer  as  the  musical  germ  of  his  work, 
from  which  he  evolves,  as  by  the  process  of  spon- 
taneous growth,  all  its  manifold  possibilities  for  varied 
expression  and  contrasted  effect;  much  as  the  skilful 
orator  expands  from  his  tersely  stated  thesis  or  text, 
by  means  of  elaborate  comparison,  analysis,  antithesis, 
and   peroration,    all    that    far-reaching   sequence   of 


Schubert :  Impromptu  B  Flat  loi 

deduction  and  argument  latent  in  his  thought-germ. 
It  is  always  fascinating  to  watch  this  growth,  this 
gradual  evolution,  this  play  of  many  colored  lights 
over  the  familiar  theme,  under  the  skilful  and  ingenious 
manipulation  of  a  master  hand.  But  there  is,  I  claim, 
a  deeper  interest  and  a  higher  pleasure  to  be  derived 
from  seeking,  beneath  the  smoothly  flowing  harmonies 
and  graceful,  rippling  embellishment,  for  the  allegorical 
significance  or  suggestion  mirrored  in  their  clear 
depths,  as  scenes  and  faces  are  reflected  in  the  tranquil 
stream,  and  which  are  rarely,  if  ever,  wanting  in  the 
true  art  work. 

The  "theme  and  variations"  in  music,  which  owes 
its  origin  to  the  first  crude  attempts  of  early  composers 
to  elongate  and  develop  a  musical  idea  into  a  sym- 
metrical art  form,  corresponds  to  a  very  early  phase  of 
another  art.  I  refer  to  the  series  of  progressive  pictures 
carved  on  the  friezes  of  many  ancient  Oriental  and 
Grecian  temples,  portraying  successive  episodes  in  the 
life  of  some  god,  hero,  king,  or  prophet.  The  central 
figure  is  ever  the  same,  however  attitude,  action,  mood, 
and  environment  may  var)'^,  to  suit  the  stage  of  his  story 
represented  in  each  scene.  No  smoke  of  battle, 
strangeness  of  garb,  or  storm  of  emotion  can  so  ob- 
scure or  distort  the  familiar  lineaments  that  they  are 
not  recognizable,  though  they  take  contour  and  ex- 
pression from  circumstances,  those  variations  in  the 
theme  of  life.  The  same  idea  is  carried  out  in  pictorial 
art  in  the  interiors  of  more  modern  edifices,  when  the 
walls  of  cathedrals  are  adorned  with  frescoes  represent- 
ing the  life  of  Christ,  in  numerous  consecutive  panels, 
from  the  infant  in  the  manger  to  the  death  upon  the 


I02  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

cross.  Painting  can  tell  a  story,  within  certain  Iimita< 
tions,  as  well  as  words,  and  more  powerfully.  The 
same  is  true  of  music,  for  those  who  have  ears  to 
hear. 

As  already  stated  in  connection  with  the  Beethoven 
sonata,  Op.  26,  to  me  the  "theme  and  variations" 
always  seems  to  represent  a  given  character  or  per- 
sonality, met  at  different  times,  amid  varying  scenes 
and  circumstances,  in  many  moods  and  situations,  as 
would  be  the  case  in  real  life;  developing  with  the 
progress  of  acquaintance  and  contrasting  experiences, 
showing  now  one  aspect,  now  another,  according  to 
the  changes  of  inner  emotion  or  outward  environment, 
but  always  preserving  the  same  individuality,  an 
identity  which  lends  itself  to,  but  does  not  lose  itself 
in,  the  vicissitudes  of  human  existence.  In  the  par- 
ticular work  before  us,  let  the  first  fresh,  simple,  tender 
theme  symbolize  a  maiden,  the  heroine  of  the  story 
we  will  call  her,  fair,  with  the  delicate  freshness  of 
first  youth,  full  of  the  winning  grace,  the  naive  sim- 
plicity and  the  dreamy  poetic  fancy  of  one  of  Lytton's 
heroines:  a  young  girl, 

"  Standing  with  reluctant  feet 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet- 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet" 

All  the  manifold  vicissitudes  of  life  are  lying  untried 
before  her,  with  the  latent  possibilities  of  her  nature 
waiting  to  be  unfolded  and  developed  by  experience, 
that  climate  of  the  soul. 

In  the  first  variation,  with  its  tremulous  yet  flow- 
ing embellishment,  all  is  vague,  uncertain,  conjectural. 


Schubert:  Impromptu  B  Flat  103 

She  seems  in  a  mood  of  speculation,  of  reverie,  to  be 
gazing  forward  down  the  dim  vista  of  the  years,  and 
wondering,  with  a  thrill  at  heart,  what  they  promise 
or  presage  for  her.  It  is  the  first  rosy,  dawning 
twilight  of  as  yet  indefinite  hope  and  desire. 

In  the  second,  her  pulses  beat  to  a  swifter,  stronger 
measure.  She  has  begun  to  taste  the  zest  of  life  and 
is  borne  along  impetuously  on  the  stream  of  youthful 
exhilaration  and  unbroken  confidence,  out  into  the 
broad,  full  sunlight  of  the  first  great  happiness.  Light 
ripples  of  laughter,  quick-drawn  breaths  of  delight,  a 
sunny  circuit  of  bright  and  blithe  fancies,  envelop  the 
theme  and  well-nigh  conceal  it. 

The  mournful  melody,  somber  minor  harmonies,  and 
sobbing  accompaniment  of  the  third  variation,  so 
full  of  passionate  pain,  express  the  all  too  certain 
reaction  from  the  former  hilarious  mood,  the  coming 
of  that  inevitable  shadow  of  all  great  joy — its  cor- 
responding grief.  The  hour  has  come  when  the  first 
great,  crushing  sorrow  surges  in  upon  the  soul,  in  a 
resistless,  overwhelming  tide;  and  our  heroine,  from 
fancying  that  her  life's  pathway  was  to  be  all  roses 
and  sunshine,  is  forced  to  find  it,  for  the  time  at  least, 
all  thorns  and  midnight  darkness,  and  to  match  her 
single  strength  with  the  might  of  woe  in  that  struggle 
for  supremacy  which  must  come  soon  or  late  to  all. 

The  fourth  again  changes  wholly  in  character;  is 
bold,  energetic,  spirited,  almost  martial.  The  struggle 
of  life  is  in  full  progress.  The  resolute,  forceful  bass 
tones,  with  which  the  left  hand  enters  from  time  to 
time,  seem  like  the  impetus  of  a  strong  will  giving 
momentum  to  earnest  purpose.     This  variation  tells 


I04  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

in  stirring  trumpet  tones  of  victory,  of  the  dauntless 
courage  and  the  elastic  strength  born  in  noble  natures 
of  endurance  and  endeavor,  of  a  character  invigorated 
by  conflict,  deepened  and  matured  by  adversity;  and 
it  leads  us  back,  at  its  close,  through  many  winding 
ways  and  devious  modulations,  to  a  later  happiness, 
expressed  in  the  fifth  and  last — a  happiness  hard-won, 
but  more  complete  than  the  first,  though  less  exuberant, 
more  ethereal  and  spiritual,  with  something  in  it  of 
the  mellow  sunset  glow. 

The  work  closes  with  a  tranquil  coda,  a  brief  evening 
retrospect,  grave  and  thoughtful;  but,  on  the  whole, 
cheerful  in  tone,  as  if  the  backward  glance  were,  all 
in  all,  fraught  with  satisfaction.  Here  we  find  the 
opening  theme,  the  character  melody,  in  all  its  first 
simplicity,  but  given  an  octave  lower,  in  slower  tempo 
and  in  full  chords.  Our  heroine  has  not  altered; 
the  contours  are  clear,  the  proportions  identical,  not 
a  note  is  wanting;  but  the  leit-motif  of  her  per- 
sonality is  deeper,  broader,  and  fuller  for  the  experi- 
ences of  life  behind  her,  and  seems  to  bear  the  imprint 
as  of  an  epitaph,  "I  have  lived  and  loved  and  labored. 
All  is  well." 


Emotion  in  Music 


OT  long  since,  when  urging  upon  a 
pupil  the  necessity  of  bringing  out 
the  deeper  mood  and  meaning  of 
a  certain  composition,  the  present 
writer  received  this  response:  "I 
am  afraid  to  make  it  say  all  that, 
to  put  so  much  of  myself  into  it; 
people  will  call  me  sentimental!" 
The  reply  voiced  a  prevailing  and  thoroughly  Ameri- 
can weakness.  It  is  far  too  common  here  to  find, 
especially  among  our  girls,  a  bright,  warm,  impulsive 
nature,  full  of  genuine  sentiment  and  poetic  fancy, 
choked  and  perverted,  turned  shallow  and  bitter,  by 
this  same  paralyzing  fear  of  ridicule;  to  meet  persons 
who  take  a  morbid  pride  in  concealing  and  repressing 
their  better  selves  so  effectually,  that  even  their  most 
intimate  friends  shall  never  suspect  them  of  being  one 
degree  less  frivolous  and  heartless  than  their  com- 
panions, who  in  their  turn  are  doubtless  vying  with 
them  in  this  deplorable,  misguided  effort  to  belittle 
themselves,  their  lives  and  influence. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  significant  and  lamentable  signs 
of  the  time,  that  any  allusion  to  or  expression  of  a 
warm,  true,  earnest  sentiment  is  met  in  society  with 
more  or  less  open  and  bitter  derision,  even  by  those 

los 


io6  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

who  are  secretly  in  sympathy  with  it,  admire  the 
courage  and  sincerity  of  its  champion,  and  would 
gladly  take  the  same  bold  stand  in  its  defense,  but 
dare  not,  and  so  add  their  coward  voices  to  swell  the 
majority.  This  is  the  more  deplorable,  since  this 
tendency  is  at  once  cause  and  effect.  The  continual 
and  systematic  denial  and  suppression  of  emotion  and 
ideality  result  finally  in  their  complete  extinction  in 
most  cases,  or  leave  them  deformed  and  feeble,  to 
struggle  for  a  precarious  existence  in  some  dark,  hid- 
den recess  of  the  soul,  whose  highest  throne  is  their 
rightful  heritage. 

George  Sand  says,  somewhere,  speaking  of  the 
French,  "We  once  had  sentiment,  but  the  sirocco  of 
sarcasm  has  scorched  it  from  our  hearts,  and  where  it 
grew  is  a  desert  place !"  Alas  for  the  people  of  whom 
this  is  true!  Alas  for  the  young  man  or  maiden  who 
can  say,  "I  have  no  sentiment,"  and  speak  truth. 
And  let  me  here  caution  any  young  person  against  a 
light  and  frequent,  even  though  purposely  insincere, 
denial  of  any  characteristic  of  value;  for  there  is  a 
strange  and  subtle  sympathy  between  the  heart  and 
the  lips,  which  works  steadily,  if  stealthily,  to  bring 
them  more  and  more  into  accord.  A  lie  is  in 
every  sense  a  violation  of  the  laws  of  nature ;  and  what 
is  first  uttered  as  a  conscious,  flagrant  falsehood,  be- 
comes less  so  with  each  repetition,  till  unawares  a  day 
will  come  which  shall  see  it  transformed  into  a  glaring 
truth.  Such  a  person,  no  matter  how  highly  organized, 
or  perfectly  trained  otherwise,  is  no  better  than  a 
machine.     He  does  not  live,  he  simply  runs. 

One  may  not  be  to  blame  for  a  natiu-al  deficiency  in 


Emotion  in  Music  107 

those  higher  qualities  which  make  a  life  warm  and 
rich  and  attractive,  which  mark  a  personality  as  some- 
thing more  than  an  animated  clod,  or  even  a  well- 
adjusted  mental  mechanism;  he  must  be  pitied  even 
though  instinctively  shimned;  but  he  who  wantonly 
draws  the  fatal  knife  of  sarcasm  across  the  throat  of  a 
true  sentiment  or  a  lofty  ideal,  however  feebly  or  im- 
perfectly embodied,  commits  a  crime  against  humanity 
at  large,  more  injurious  and  far-reaching  in  its  effects 
than  slaughter  of  the  body  only.  Above  all,  let  us 
beware  how  we  tamper  with  the  natural,  essential 
relations  between  art  and  the  emotions.  Good-by 
to  the  artist  who  has  no  place  or  use  for  sentiment  in 
his  work ;  he  should  tiu-n  his  attention  at  once  to  some 
more  practical  and  creditable  branch  of  mechanics. 

One  grievous  mistake  in  our  American  system  of 
training  is  that  we  ignore  almost  altogether  this  phase 
of  culture.  We  develop  the  conscience,  the  reason, 
the  memory,  but  do  nothing  for  the  taste,  the  imagina- 
tion, the  esthetic  sense,  the  whole  ideal  and  spiritual 
side  of  the  character.  The  faithful,  protracted  study 
of  music,  or  other  branch  of  art,  even  though  it  never 
result  in  any  financial  profit  or  the  smallest  degree  of 
professional  success,  will  develop  faculties  and  ten- 
dencies of  more  advantage  to  the  student  and  to  all 
who  may  come  in  contact  with  him  in  private  life, 
than  any  amount  of  algebra,  or  any  nmnber  of  Greek 
roots.  The  German  methods  of  study,  especially  for 
yoimg  ladies,  might  teach  us  a  valuable  lesson  in  this 
connection. 

He  who  would  attain  the  best  results  in  art  should 
remember  that  we  do  not  gather  dates  of  thorns,  nor 


io8  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

figs  of  thistles;  that  "only  life  begets  life,"  and  that 
after  its  own  kind;  that  an  art  product,  to  be  really 
good  and  great,  must  be  the  concentrated,  crystallized 
essence  of  the  best  that  is  in  him,  the  epitome  of  his 
highest  moods  and  aspirations,  of  those  rare,  intuitive 
glimpses  of  a  loftier  existence,  to  which  in  favorable 
moments  he  can  lift  himself,  the  distilled  perfume  of 
weeks,  it  may  be  years,  of  living.  He  should  subject 
himself  to  every  possible  cultivating,  elevating  in- 
fluence, should  train,  not  only  hand  and  head,  but 
heart  as  well ;  for  these  three  are  the  inseparable  trinity 
of  art.  He  should  increase  his  resources,  widen  his 
experiences,  expand  his  horizon;  not  by  cramming  a 
quantity  of  facts,  or  by  the  conquest  of  mere  technical 
means — what  use  in  commanding  words,  or  tones,  if 
one  has  nothing  to  express  withal? — but  by  increased 
familiarity  with  and  capacity  to  appreciate  and  exer- 
cise the  qualities  so  constantly  requisite  in  his  work. 

Let  us  remember,  too,  what  the  scientists  tell  us,  that 
light  and  heat  radiated  from  a  given  center  are  dissi- 
pated in  force  and  intensity  in  proportion  to  the 
square  of  the  distance  to  be  traversed.  The  same  is 
emphatically  true  of  emotion.  If  one  would  stir  his 
audience  to  a  pleasurable  excitement,  he  must  himself 
be  shaken  as  in  a  tempest ;  to  warm  them,  he  must  be 
at  white  heat. 

Should  the  question  arise,  How  shall  one  learn  to  feel 
music  more  deeply  and  make  it  more  expressive?  my 
answer  would  be.  Read,  think,  feel,  dream,  love,  live ! 
Read — not  musical  history  and  biography — these  give 
information,  not  cultm-e ;  they  are  valuable,  but  not  in 
this  connection;  read  poetry,  especially  the  lyric  and 


hLmotion  in  iviusic  109 

dramatic,  and  good  prose  literature.  A  person  entirely 
unaccustomed  to  understand  or  to  utter  anything  in 
tones,  will  often  find  the  key  to  this  unfamiliar  medium 
of  expression  by  the  following  indirect  method:  Find 
some  work,  a  poem  is  best,  because  briefer  and  more 
concrete,  which  expresses,  approximately  at  least,  the 
sentiment  of  the  composition  to  be  studied.  Most  per- 
sons are  more  familiar  with  the  language  of  words  than 
with  that  of  tones,  and  will  reach  a  given  mood  more 
directly  and  easily  through  that  channel.  Let  the 
poem  be  well  studied,  not  only  with  the  mind,  but  with 
the  imagination,  dwelling  upon  it,  trying  to  feel  its 
meaning  and  beauty  as  deeply  as  possible ;  then  throw 
the  same  emotional  content  into  the  music,  making 
the  tones  tell  what  the  words  have  said.  The  present 
writer  has  found  this  course  in  teaching  very  effective 
with  all  sensitive  natures,  even  with  those  who  have 
but  the  rudiments  of  an  artistic  temperament. 

Above  all,  artist  or  amateur,  teacher  or  pupil,  fear 
not  to  use  in  your  work  to  the  full  all  the  emotional 
power  you  have  or  can  acquire.  It  may  be  the  in- 
judicious application  of  force  that  sometimes  impairs 
artistic  results;  it  is  never  the  excess.  Vital  energy 
should  be  controlled,  regulated,  but  never  stinted. 
Ill-timed  frenzy  is  not  art,  of  course ;  but  where  intensity 
is  demanded  and  proper  gradations  and  proportions 
are  observed,  no  dirge  is  ever  too  deeply  gloomy,  no 
dramatic  climax  too  strong.  The  danger  is  always 
of  tameness,  rather  than  of  excessive  fervor. 

Let  us,  then,  be  genuine,  earnest,  whole-hearted, 
open,  in  our  allegiance  to  the  ideal ;  and  as  for  those 
who  sneer  at  sentiment  in  art  or  in  life,  why,  let  them 


no  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

rave.  We  adhere  to  the  creed  which  T.  T.  Hunger 
has  beautifully  formulated  for  our  profession  in  his 
"Music  as  Revelation":  "Emotion  is  the  summit  of 
existence,  and  music  is  the  summit  of  emotion,  the  art 
pathway  to  God." 


ISIi 


is4a 


Chopin:    Sonata,  B  Flat  Minor, 
Op-  35 


HETHER  regarded  from  the  stand- 
point of  musical  form,  of  intrinsic 
beauty,  or  of  dramatic  intensity, 
this  work  may  safely  be  pronounced 
Chopin's  masterpiece;  and  in  the 
present  writer's  opinion  it  ranks 
as  the  greatest  composition  in  all 
piano  literature.  Chopin's  ability  to 
handle  the  strict  sonata  form  successfully  has  been 
sometimes  called  in  question;  but  whatever  may  be 
said  of  his  other  two  sonatas,  this  one  will  certainly 
bear  comparison  with  the  most  perfect  models  of 
symmetry,  finish,  and  architectural  completeness,  by 
the  best  known  and  most  universally  recognized  classic 
masters.  In  the  allegro  movement,  upon  which  the 
distinguishing  character  of  the  sonata  form  always 
depends,  the  first  and  second  subjects  are  well  con- 
trasted and  admirably  balanced,  the  development  is 
logical,  ingenious,  and  forceful,  and  the  statement 
of  the  dramatic  content  is  clear,  concise,  and  strong, 
without  a  single  irrelevant  phrase  or  superfluous 
measure. 
The  work  is  founded  upon  an  ancient  Polish  poem 
8  113 


114  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

of  a  semi-legendary,  semi-allegorical  significance,  by 
a  once  prominent,  now  well-nigh  forgotten  Polish 
writer.  It  consists  of  four  movements,  corresponding 
to  the  four  cantos  of  the  poem,  of  which  it  is,  in  a 
sense,  a  musical  translation,  treating  successively  the 
principal  moods  and  situations  in  the  story.  The  fact 
that  in  the  first  two  movements  the  incidents  are 
treated  symbolically,  emotionally,  in  accordance  with 
the  composer's  usual  subjective  mode  of  expression^ 
rather  than  with  the  descriptive  or  imitative  devices 
of  the  modem  school,  does  not  in  the  least  detract 
from  the  poetic  impression  or  suggestive  power  of  the 
music. 

In  the  last  two  movements  he  has  recourse,  foi 
obvious  reasons,  to  the  direct  method  of  definite 
realism.  The  first  movement  pictures  the  life  and 
feelings  of  the  hero,  a  Polish  knight  of  the  middle 
ages,  facing  storm  and  conflict,  danger  and  hardship, 
in  camp  and  field,  fighting  for  king  and  country, 
cheered  now  and  then,  in  lonely  hours  of  vigil  at  the 
camp-fire,  by  waking  visions  of  his  distant  home  and 
his  waiting  bride. 

The  opening  measures  of  the  brief  introduction  tell 
of  stem  courage  and  inflexible  resolve.  Then  the 
first  subject  enters,  stirring,  impetuous,  fiery,  full  of 
the  ring  of  trumpets,  the  clash  of  steel,  the  fierce 
exultation  of  desperate  combat.  The  tranquil  second 
subject  suggests  memories  of  the  happy  days  of  youth 
in  his  quiet  home — dreams  of  a  future  brightened  by 
the  light  of  promised  love,  but  still  enveloped  in  the 
softening  haze  of  distance  and  uncertainty.  The  de- 
velopment, with  its  complex,  conflicting  rhythms,  its 


Chopin:  Sonata,  B  Flat  Minor         115 

resistless,  tempestuous  sweep,  thrills  with  the  excite- 
ment of  sudden  onset,  the  rush  of  charging  squadrons, 
the  battle  cry  of  struggling  hosts.  The  closing  chords 
express  a  somber  triumph,  the  proud  but  sorrow- 
shadowed  elation  of  a  hard-won  victory,  purchased 
by  the  blood  of  many  a  patriot  comrade. 

The  second  movement,  the  scherzo,  gives  us  the 
triumphant  return  of  our  hero  crowned  with  laurel, 
accompanied  by  the  jubilant  strains  of  martial  music, 
and  the  glad  acclamations  of  the  crowd.  Yet,  in  the 
midst  of  his  pride  and  well-earned  glory,  he  finds  time 
to  dream  again;  this  time  more  tenderly,  sweetly, 
hopefully ;  to  dream  of  his  home-coming,  and  the  fond 
greeting  that  awaits  him  in  his  own  native  village, 
where,  through  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the 
campaign,  his  promised  bride  has  been  watching,  and 
hoping,  and  praying  for  his  return  in  faithful  but 
anxious  affection. 

Here  again  we  find  two  contrasting  and  strongly 
characteristic  themes:  The  first,  full  of  martial  pride 
and  exultation,  the  thoughts  of  victory,  the  glad 
tribute  of  applause  to  a  nation's  hero;  the  second, 
tender,  dreamy,  pulsing  with  love's  anticipation. 
After  this  soulful  trio  melody,  the  first  martial  strains 
are  repeated;  but  in  the  coda,  a  brief  recurrence  of 
the  trio  theme  seems  to  emphasize  the  idea  that  with 
him  the  love  thought  dominates.  This  brings  us  to 
the  third  movement,  the  Funeral  March,  unquestion- 
ably the  best  funeral  march  ever  written  for  the 
piano,  the  most  intrinsically  beautiful,  the  most 
touchingly,  intensely  sad,  and  the  most  complete, 
finely   finished,    and   perfectly   sustained,    from   first 


Ii6  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

measure  to  last;  the  strongest,  noblest,  deepest  ex* 
pression  of  heart-crushing  sorrow  to  be  found  in  all 
piano  literature. 

As  it  is  published  and  most  often  heard  by  itself, 
many  who  have  played  and  listened  to  it  have  not 
even  been  aware  that  it  affords  the  third  chapter,  so 
to  speak,  in  a  great  tone  epic,  for  as  such  this  sonata 
must  be  considered. 

As  our  hero  approaches  home,  his  heart  swelling 
with  anticipation,  he  is  greeted  by  the  distant,  solemn 
tolling  of  cathedral  bells,  too  evidently  funeral  bells, 
and  soon  is  met  by  a  slowly  moving,  somber  procession 
of  black-robed  monks  and  mourners,  bearing  to  her 
last  resting-place  in  the  church-yard  the  very  bride 
to  whose  fond  greeting  he  has  so  ardently  looked 
forward.  The  music,  soft  and  muffled  at  first,  like  the 
toll  of  far-off  bells,  gradually  grows  in  power  and 
intensity  as  the  procession  advances,  assuming  more 
and  more  the  heavy,  measured,  inflexible  rhythm  of 
a  funeral  march,  and  swelling  at  last  to  an  overwhelm- 
ing climax  of  passionate  pain. 

Then  the  procession  comes  to  a  stand  by  the  open 
grave.  After  a  brief  pause,  the  sweet,  plaintive  trio 
melody  enters,  ptu-e  and  tender  as  a  prayer,  touched 
and  thrilled  to  warmth  and  pathos  by  memories  of 
happier  days;  after  which  the  march  movement  is 
resumed,  as  the  procession  slowly  and  sadly  returns 
to  the  village;  the  music,  heavy,  crushing,  inexorable 
at  first  as  the  voice  of  fate,  gradually  recedes,  di- 
minishes, dies  in  the  distance;  and  then  follows  the 
last  movement,  the  presto,  in  some  respects  the  most 
original  and  most  impressive  of  all,  the  lament  of  the 


Chopin:  Sonata,  B  Flat  Minor         117 

autumn  night-wind  over  a  forsaken  grave,  one  of  the 
few  cases  in  which  Chopin  chose  to  be  distinctly 
realistic,  a  literal  and  graphic  imitation  of  wind  effects ; 
yet  woven  through  it  is  an  unmistakable  suggestion 
of  the  mood  of  the  hoiu"  and  situation,  the  chill,  the 
gloom,  the  wild  despair,  and  a  hint  of  that  ever  darker 
thought  that  will  arise  at  such  moments;  after  deaths 
formless  void,  chaos. 

There  is  an  important  vein  of  allegory  underlying 
this  whole  story,  like  a  deep  substratum.  The  hero 
is  a  personification  of  the  typical  Polish  patriot, 
struggling,  in  a  forlorn  hope,  for  his  native  land;  the 
bride  is  Poland,  and  the  mighty,  overwhelming  grief 
expressed  is  more  than  a  personal  sorrow :  it  is  for  the 
death  and  burial  of  a  nation. 

The  authority  for  connecting  the  poem  referred  to 
with  this  sonata  has  been  frequently  questioned.  1 
wish  to  state  here  that  the  poetic  background  to  this 
great  work  is  by  no  means  hypothetically  sketched  in 
by  my  own  imagination,  however  fully  justified  by 
the  inherent  character  of  the  music.  I  have  my  data 
in  full  from  Kullak  and  Liszt,  the  latter  having  been 
a  personal  friend  of  Chopin,  as  is  well  known,  and 
having  first  presented  the  sonata  in  public  to  the 
musical  world.  We  may  safely  assume,  therefore,  that 
he  was  correctly  informed  with  regard  to  it,  and  that 
this  interpretation  is  authentic  and  authoritative. 


The  Chopin  Ballades 


ROBABLY  no  class  of  musical  com- 
positions ever  presented  to  the  world 
by  any  master  has  been  so  little 
understood,  and  consequently  so 
much  misrepresented  as  the  bal- 
lades by  Frederic  Chopin.  Even 
so  standard  an  authority  as  Grove, 
in  his  "Dictionary  of  Music  and 
Musicians,"  writes  as  follows  '."Ballade,  a  name  adopted 
by  Chopin  for  four  pieces  of  pianoforte  music,  which 
have  no  peculiar  form  or  character  of  their  own, 
beyond  being  written  in  triple  time,  and  to  which  the 
name  seems  to  be  no  more  applicable  than  that  of 
sonnet  to  the  pieces  which  others  have  written  imder 
that  title" — a  statement  which  proves  that  he  had 
little  information  and  less  interest  in  regard  to  the 
subject. 

The  French  word  ballade,  which  Chopin  used  as 
title  for  these  compositions,  is  derived  from  the  Pro- 
vencal ballata,  a  dancing  song,  which  in  tm-n  comes 
from  bellare,  to  dance;  and  our  modern  English 
words  ballad,  ball,  ballet,  all  descend  to  us  from  the 
same  source.  In  Italian,  ballata  meant  a  dancing 
piece,   in  distinction  from  sonata,  a  sounding  piece, 


The  Chopin  Ballades  119 

and  cantata,  a  singing  piece;  and  the  ballade  and 
ballata  originally  meant  a  piece  of  music  to  be  sung 
while  dancing  or  accompanied  by  dancing.  The  dance 
element,  however,  was  early  lost,  and  ballade  in  French, 
like  ballad  in  English,  came  to  mean  a  short  and 
popular  narrative  poem  adapted  for  singing  or  recita- 
tion. The  ballad  is  a  tale  in  verse.  It  differs  from 
the  epic  in  being  briefer,  less  dignified  in  tone,  and  in 
concerning  itself  with  actual  practical  events  in  the 
lives  of  individuals,  instead  of  with  historic  and 
mythological  subjects,  which  form  the  main  province 
of  the  epic.  The  true  ballad  treats  of  some  knightly 
exploit,  some  national  episode,  or  some  tale  of  love 
and  adventure ;  and,  as  we  shall  see,  Chopin,  in  adopt- 
ing this  title  for  instrumental  compositions,  adhered 
strictly  to  its  definition  and  its  literary  characteristics 
and  significance. 

The  Chopin  ballades,  four  in  number  and  ranking 
among  his  most  strikingly  original  and  effective  con- 
tributions to  pianoforte  music,  introduced  an  entirely 
new  and  distinctly  unique  musical  form,  well-nigh 
limitless  in  its  possibilities  of  expression  and  applica- 
tion, its  facile  adaptability  to  every  phase  of  emo- 
tional and  descriptive  writing.  As  was  natural,  they 
opened  the  way  for  a  host  of  more  or  less  worthy  fol- 
lowers, bold,  independent  free  lances,  heedless  of  the 
forms  and  rules  which  bind  in  rank  and  file  the  more 
orderly  conservative  compositions ;  all  bearing  a  strong 
racial  resemblance,  but  variously  designated  by  such 
special  clan  cognomens  as  ballade,  novelette,  legend, 
fable,  fairy-tale,  and  the  like.  They  now  constitute 
a  complete  and  markedly  individual  school  of  com* 


I20  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

position,  of  which  Chopin  in  his  ballades  was  the 
originator,  and  which  is  differentiated  from  all  others 
by  its  distinctly  declamatory,  narrative  style. 

Chopin  used  the  name  ballade  in  the  sense  in  which 
it  is  employed  in  modern  literature — to  designate  a 
short,  poetic  narrative,  a  miniatiu-e  epic,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  lyric,  didactic,  and  dramatic  forms  of 
poetry.  He  intended  the  ballade  in  music  to  be  a 
counterpart  of  the  ballad  in  poetry,  and  his  inventive 
genius  and  unerring  taste  supplied  and  perfected  a 
form  precisely  adapted  to  the  end  in  view;  a  form 
which  is  strictly  akin  neither  to  the  rondo,  the  sonata 
allegro,  nor  the  free  fantasia,  though  having  certain 
points  of  resemblance  to  all  three,  still  less  to  any  of 
the  dance  forms.  It  reminds  us  more  of  some  of  the 
larger,  more  complex  song  forms,  as,  for  instance,  the 
musical  settings  by  Schubert  and  others  of  the  more 
pretentious  German  ballads  by  Goethe,  Berger,  and 
Uhland;  but  its  development  is  broader  and  ampler, 
at  once  more  extended  and  more  logical,  evincing  a 
greater  degree  of  constructive  musicianship. 

Chopin's  able  biographer,  Karasowski,  says  of  the 
ballades:  "Some  regarded  them  as  a  variety  of  the 
rondo ;  others,  with  more  accuracy,  called  them  poetical 
stories.  Indeed,  there  is  about  them  a  narrative  tone 
(Mdrchenton)  which  is  particularly  well  rendered  by 
the  six-four  and  six-eight  time,  and  which  makes  them 
differ  essentially  from  the  existing  forms."  In  view 
of  these  facts,  patent  even  to  the  superficial  student 
of  Chopin's  life  and  works,  it  seems  very  strange  that 
we  should  so  often  hear  and  even  see  in  print  sneering 
insinuations  to  the  effect  that  the  composer  christened 


The  Chopin  Ballades  121 

these  works  ballades  for  lack  of  any  better  or  more 
appropriate  name ;  that  the  title  has  in  reality  nothing 
of  significance  or  distinctness,  which  is  justified  either 
by  the  form  or  the  content  of  the  works. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  four  of  these  ballades,  accord- 
ing to  Chopin's  own  statement  to  Schumann  during 
an  interview  at  Leipsic,  are  founded  directly  upon 
Polish  poems  by  the  greatest  poet  of  that  nation, 
Adam  Mickiewicz,  the  father  of  the  romantic  school  in 
Poland,  a  contemporary  and  personal  friend  of  the 
composer,  a  man  whose  fervent  patriotism  and  un- 
swerving fidelity  to  national  themes,  as  well  as  the 
warmth,  tenderness,  and  power  of  his  creative  genius, 
specially  endeared  him  to  the  heart  of  his  compatriot 
and  brother  artist,  the  tone-poet  Chopin,  It  is  difficult, 
not  to  say  impossible,  to  estimate  the  stimulating  in- 
fluence of  Mickiewicz  and  his  works  upon  the  creative 
activity  of  Chopin.  That  the  music  of  the  latter  has 
attained  world-wide  celebrity,  while  the  poems  of  the 
former  are  scarcely  heard  of  outside  of  the  small  and 
cultured  circle  of  his  own  countrymen  and  women, 
is  due  perhaps  not  so  much  to  the  superiority  of  the 
composer's  genius  over  that  of  the  poet,  r.v  to  the 
more  universal  intelligibility  of  his  chosen  idiom,  his 
medium  of  expression,  Polish  being  a  language  under- 
stood by  few  persons  even  of  cosmopolitan  tendencies, 
and  one  which  is  ill  adapted  for  translation  into  non- 
Slavonic  tongues.  Certain  it  is  that  Chopin  himself 
was  quick  to  acknowledge  his  deep  indebtedness  to 
his  gifted  countryman,  and  rose  to  some  of  his  loftiest 
flights  of  creative  effort  when  translating  into  his  own 
beloved  language  of  tone  ideas,  experiences,  incidents, 


122   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

and  situations  which  had  already  been  molded  and 
vivified  into  artistic  life  and  beauty  by  the  hand  of  the 
poet,  as  in  the  case  of  the  four  ballades  under  con- 
sideration. 

Though  the  origin  of  these  ballades  as  musical 
transcripts  of  certain  poems  by  Mickiewicz  is  indis- 
putable, it  has  always  been  a  mooted  question,  and  one 
fraught  with  the  keenest  interest,  at  least  to  some  of 
us,  upon  what  particular  poem  any  given  ballade  is 
founded ;  what  special  experience  or  incident,  national, 
personal,  or  imaginary,  found  its  first  embodiment  in 
the  verses  of  the  Slavic  poet,  to  thrill  with  its  power 
and  beauty  a  limited  circle  of  Polish  readers,  and  was 
later  reincarnated  by  Chopin,  to  find  a  far  wider  sphere 
of  influence  throughout  the  musical  world;  and  what 
may  be  the  peculiar  subtle  karma  of  romantic  or 
dramatic  association  which  this  vital  art  germ  has 
brought  with  it  in  its  transmigration  from  a  former 
existence;  in  a  word,  whence  and  what  is  the  essential 
artistic  essence  of  each  ballade? 

If  we  could  trace  it  to  its  fountain  head  and  fa- 
miliarize ourselves  with  the  sources  of  Chopin's  own 
inspiration,  the  task  of  rightly  comprehending  and 
interpreting  any  one  of  these  compositions  would  be 
vastly  facilitated.  This  no  one  has  hitherto  done 
successfully.  Few  among  English-speaking  musicians 
are  able  to  read  Mickiewicz  in  the  original  Polish; 
translations  of  his  works  are  meager,  imperfect,  and 
very  difficult  to  obtain.  It  is  therefore  not  without  a 
certain  glow  of  satisfaction  that  the  present  writer  is 
-ble,  after  diligent,  unwearying  inquiry  and  volumin- 
ous reading,  covering  a  period  of  some  fifteen  years, 


The  Chopin  Ballades  123 

confidently  to  affirm  that  he  has  at  last  traced  back  to 
their  inspirational  sources  three  at  least  of  the  four 
ballades ;  and  he  submits  to  the  reader  the  results  of 
his  research,  in  the  hope  that  some  degree  of  the 
interest  and  pleasure  he  has  himself  derived  from  this 
line  of  investigation  may  be  shared  by  others. 

Should  any  question  arise  with  regard  to  the 
accuracy  of  the  statements  and  conclusions  here  ad- 
vanced, I  would  say  that  the  authority  on  which  they 
are  based  is  derived  partly  from  definite  historical 
data,  existing,  though  widely  diffused,  in  print ;  partly 
from  direct  traditions  gathered  from  those  who  en- 
joyed the  personal  acquaintance  of  the  composer ;  and 
partly  from  the  carefully  considered  internal  evidence 
of  the  works  themselves,  when  critically  compared  with 
the  poems  to  which  they  presumably  had  reference. 
I  will  say  further  that  concerning  the  fourth  ballade, 
in  F  minor,  I  am  still  as  completely  in  the  dark  as  any 
of  my  readers,  and  would  gratefully  welcome  any 
information  or  suggestion  which  might  tend  to  throw 
the  smallest  light  upon  the  subject. 

Ballade  in  G  Minor,  Op.  23 

The  first  ballade,  Op.  23,  in  G  minor,  was  published 
in  June,  1836,  perhaps  written  a  year  or  two  earlier. 
It  was  suggested  by  and  is  founded  upon  one  of  the 
most  able  and  forceful,  as  well  as  extended,  patriotic 
historical  poems  by  Mickiewicz,  often  called  the 
Lithuanian  Epic,  entitled  "Konrad  Wallenrod,"  and 
published  in  1828.  The  following  is  a  brief  synopsis 
of  its  plot: 


124  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

During  the  latter  half  of  the  fourteenth  centiuy,  the 
Red  Cross  knights,  a  powerful  religious,  political,  and 
military  order,  controlling  large  dominions  on  the 
Baltic,  in  territory  now  included  in  modern  Russia, 
were  at  fierce  feud  with  Lithuania,  then  an  independent 
principality,  later  united  with  Poland  by  a  marriage 
of  its  reigning  prince,  Jagiello,  to  the  heiress  of  the 
Polish  throne,  thus  founding  the  dynasty  of  the 
Jagiellos,  the  most  illustrious  of  the  royal  houses  of 
Poland.  Long  and  desperate  was  the  struggle.  The 
Lithuanians,  though  vastly  outnumbered  and  fre- 
quently outgeneraled  and  defeated,  defended  every  inch 
of  their  beloved  fatherland,  now  absorbed  in  western 
Russia,  with  heroic  valor.  At  last  their  ruling  prince 
and  idolized  leader  fell  in  battle,  their  army  was  routed 
and  cut  to  pieces,  the  scanty  remnant  taking  refuge 
from  their  merciless  pursuers  among  the  fastnesses  of 
the  mountains ;  and  the  country  was  for  a  time  prac- 
tically subjugated  and  forced  to  submit  to  the  most 
cruel  and  tyrannical  oppression.  The  conquerors, 
being  Crusaders  and  Christian  knights,  considered 
every  species  of  atrocious  spoliation  and  barbaric 
violence,  when  practised  against  the  infidel  Lithuanians, 
as  justifiable,  even  laudable,  and  for  some  years  the 
sufferings  of  the  conquered  knew  no  limit. 

Among  the  prisoners  taken  and  carried  into  virtual 
slavery  by  the  Teutonic  Order,  was  the  little  seven- 
year-old  son  of  the  fallen  prince — a  bright,  precocious, 
winsome  lad,  who,  after  serving  for  some  time  as  page 
in  the  household  of  the  grand  master  of  the  Order, 
so  completely  won  the  heart  of  the  old  knight,  that  he 
adopted  the  boy   and  educated  him   with  his  own 


The  Chopin  Ballades  125 

children,  in  all  the  courtly  and  martial  accomplish- 
ments of  the  time.  Years  passed.  Young  Konrad 
grew  in  manly  power  and  promise,  and  came  to  be 
ranked  among  the  flower  of  Teutonic  chivalry,  first 
in  the  tourney,  first  in  the  field,  and  first  in  the  ladies' 
hall.  But  ever  at  his  side,  as  strange  friend  and 
secret  counselor,  was  seen  the  somber  figure  of  the 
aged  Wajdelote,  or  bard,  a  venerable  minstrel,  who 
had  come  none  knew  whence,  and,  despite  his  proud 
and  gloomy  bearing,  had  won  high  favor  at  the  court 
by  the  magic  of  his  voice  and  lute.  Ostensibly  a 
wandering  singer,  he  was  in  reality  a  Lithuanian  noble 
of  high  degree,  a  former  friend  of  Konrad's  father,  the 
fallen  prince,  and  stood  high  in  the  confidence  of  the 
Lithuanian  people  and  nobiHty  as  an  able,  devoted 
patriot.  He  came  as  an  emissary  from  them  to  find 
and  win  back  their  lost  prince  Konrad  to  his  own  true 
flag  and  his  native  land.  They  were  still  hoping  and 
fitfully  struggling  to  throw  off  the  tyranny  of  the  Red 
Cross  knights  and  wanted  Konrad  for  their  leader. 

Under  the  cloak  of  his  minstrelsy,  the  Wajdelote 
plied  this  secret  mission.  With  all  the  fiery  eloquence 
of  his  poet's  genius,  he  wrought  upon  the  spirit  of  the 
young  man,  rousing  it  to  duty  and  action,  to  honor, 
ambition,  and  patriotism,  to  sympathy  with  the 
wrongs  of  his  oppressed  fellow-countrymen,  to  ven- 
geance for  the  death  of  his  slaughtered  father,  stirring 
its  latent  heroism,  steeling  it  to  steadfast  purpose.  And 
as  his  influence  strengthened  day  by  day,  the  open 
brow  of  the  young  prince  grew  clouded,  the  smile 
vanished  from  his  lips,  and  his  sunny  eyes  grew  deeper 
and  darker  with  stern  resolve. 


126  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

At  last  the  occasion  came.  In  a  foray  against  a  band 
of  insurgent  Lithuanians,  Konrad  and  his  mentor 
detached  themselves  from  their  companions,  and 
feigning  to  be  taken  captive,  joined  the  forces  of  their 
own  countrymen,  where  they  were  welcomed  with  the 
wildest  enthusiasm.  The  two  years  that  followed  were 
the  happiest  of  Konrad's  life.  He  threw  himself  heart 
and  soul  into  the  fierce  joy  of  combat  for  his  native 
land,  devoting  to  her  service  all  his  personal  courage 
and  ability,  and  all  the  military  skill  so  carefully 
acquired  at  the  court  and  camp  of  the  Red  Cross 
knights ;  yet  found  time  in  the  brief  pauses  of  activity 
to  woo  and  win  as  wife  the  fairest  and  truest  of  the 
Lithuanian  maids.  For  a  time  the  pulses  of  his  life 
throbbed  with  a  full  but  fluctuating  tide,  in  the  swift 
interchange  of  love's  delights  and  the  thrill  of  gallant 
deeds.  Caressing  whispers  alternated  with  the  clash 
of  swords,  and  the  tender  light  of  the  honeymoon 
with  the  lurid  gleam  of  the  camp-fire;  but  his  happi- 
ness was  destined  to  be  as  transient  as  his  valor  was 
vain.  A  sterner  duty,  a  more  self-sacrificing  devotion 
claimed  him,  and  his  veteran  mentor  was  still  at  his 
side  to  mature  the  plan  and  urge  its  execution.  His 
beloved  Lithuania,  enfeebled,  broken,  disorganized  for 
so  long,  was  wholly  unable  to  cope  in  open  field  with 
her  powerful,  disciplined,  and  well-equipped  antagonist. 
Some  daring,  subtle,  and  far-sighted  stratagem  alone 
might  save  her;  and  such  a  one  had  formed  itself  in 
the  mind  of  the  old  minstrel.  Again  his  eloquence 
rang  in  the  ears  of  Konrad,  like  the  voice  of  fate, 
"Behold,  this  is  to  do!     Thou  art  the  man!" 

A  heart-breaking  farewell  to  his  bride,  and  Konrad 


The  Chopin  Ballades  127 

disappears  utterly  from  the  scene  for  ten  years;  then 
returns  irrecognizably  altered  in  appearance,  under 
an  assumed  name,  with  wealth  and  fame  and  following, 
acquired  in  wars  with  the  Saracens  of  Spain.  The  old 
grand  master  of  the  Red  Cross  knights  is  dead,  and 
Konrad  with  little  difficulty  secures  his  own  election 
to  that  office ;  and  then  begins  the  work  of  vengeance. 
By  his  absolute  power  as  grand  master,  and  his  cun- 
ning diplomacy,  he  involved  the  order  in  bitter  internal 
dissensions,  depleted  its  treasury,  wasted  its  resources, 
weakened  its  garrisons,  and  in  every  possible  way 
sapped  its  strength,  and  finally  led  the  flower  of  its 
army  to  complete  annihilation  in  a  winter  campaign 
against  the  Lithuanians,  into  whose  snares  and  am- 
buscades the  Red  Cross  knights  were  mercilessly 
thrown  by  secret  and  preconcerted  arrangement  with 
his  countrymen. 

Thus  by  a  course  of  treachery,  which  for  daring, 
subtlety,  and  sustained  purpose,  both  in  conception 
and  execution,  has  hardly  a  parallel  in  history,  was 
accomplished  what  could  not  have  been  done  b)'^  force. 
The  power  of  the  order  was  effectually  broken  and 
Lithuania  set  free.  But  Konrad's  life,  as  well  as  his 
happiness,  paid  the  price  of  his  patriotism.  His 
beloved  bride  he  never  saw  but  once  again,  and  that 
only  for  a  moment  of  agonized  parting  through  dungeon 
bars,  just  before  his  execution.  And  it  is  said  he 
never  smiled  from  the  hour  when  the  voice  of  the 
stern  old  minstrel  first  stirred  his  heart  with  the 
trumpet  call  of  inexorable  duty,  till  the  hour  when  its 
proud  pulses  were  stilled  forever  by  the  daggers  of  the 
secret  tribunal.     For  his  identity  was  discovered;  he 


128  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

was,  of  course,  tried  and  condemned  as  a  traitor  to 
the  order,  and  died  in  disgrace  by  the  hands  of  his 
former  comrades. 

Such  is  the  story,  sad  but  stirring,  which  Mickiewicz 
handles  in  his  poem,  and  which  Chopin  reembodied 
in  the  G  minor  ballade,  not  following  literally  its 
successive  steps,  but  emphasizing  to  his  utmost  its 
spirit,  character,  and  moral.  I  think  no  one  ever 
played  this  composition,  or  listened  to  it  attentively, 
without  feeling  that  its  mood  was  not  of  our  day  and 
land.  The  time  it  represents  is  the  middle  ages,  its 
scene  is  laid  in  stern  and  rugged  Lithuania,  among 
warlike  knights  and  resentful  rebels,  and  its  whole 
spirit  is  therefore  medieval  and  military. 

It  opens  with  a  brief  but  scornfully  defiant  intro- 
duction, a  call  to  arms,  reminding  one  of  the  first  lines 
of  that  familiar  address  to  the  Roman  gladiators: 
' '  Friends,  I  come  not  here  to  talk ;  ye  all  do  know  the 
story  of  our  thraldom."  Then  the  first  and  principal 
theme  enters,  symbolizing  the  forceful  personality  and 
stern  mentor  voice  of  the  old  minstrel,  in  its  somber 
yet  resolute  phrases,  solemn,  inflexible,  relentless  as 
fate;  telling  of  wrongs  to  be  avenged,  of  a  nation  in 
bondage  awaiting  its  deliverer;  of  the  imperative  call 
of  duty  and  patriotism;  and  it  constantly  recurs  all 
through  the  composition  as  its  leading  motive,  when- 
ever,  as  is  vividly  suggested  by  the  other  contrasting, 
conflicting  themes  and  passages,  continually  intro- 
duced, the  young  prince  wavers  in  his  purpose,  de- 
terred by  doubts  and  forebodings,  lured  by  seductive 
temptations  from  pursuance  of  the  desperate  and  soul- 
trying  venture;  whenever  his   mind  wanders,   as   it 


The  Chopin  Ballades  1 29 

must  at  times,  to  regretful  memories  of  happier  days, 
to  the  splendors  of  feast  and  tournament,  to  the  pomp 
and  pride  of  a  martial  career  under  the  adopted  flag 
of  the  order,  to  the  blithe  hunting-horns  of  his  gay 
companions  in  youth,  and  tender  dreams  of  the  first 
great  love  of  his  manhood,  all  sacrificed  to  a  grand 
but  pitiless  cause.  He  is  ever  recalled  to  the  heroic 
mood,  to  the  proud  but  rugged  path  of  duty,  by  this 
mentor  voice — gravel)-^  insistent,  quietly  determined, 
which  will  not  be  gainsaid ;  and  which  finally  triumphs 
over  all  other  considerations.  The  impetuous  presto 
which  closes  the  work  portrays  the  fierce  excitement 
and  fiery  rush  of  conflict,  the  utter  self-abandon  that 
hurls  itself  jubilantly  into  the  arms  of  an  ignominious 
death  for  a  cherished  ideal ;  and  it  ends  with  the  savage 
but  triumphant  shout  of  a  blood-bought  victory. 

This  ballade,  though  comparatively  an  early  work, 
is  one  of  Chopin's  most  darkly  grand  and  dramatically 
powerful  efforts ;  and  the  subjective  personal  moods  of 
the  exiled  Polish  patriot  are  voiced  in  its  gloomy 
indignation,  its  desperate  courage,  and  its  fierce 
defiance. 

There  is  an  undercurrent  of  political  meaning  in 
"  Konrad  Wallenrod,"  which  fortunately  escaped  the 
notice  of  the  Russians,  who  allowed  its  publication  at 
St.  Petersburg,  but  which  appeals  to  every  native  and 
friend  of  Poland  and  has  had  no  small  share  in  making 
its  popularity.  Lithuania  in  the  fourteenth  century, 
broken  and  crushed,  represents  Poland  in  the  nine- 
teenth, and  the  tyrannical  Teutonic  Order  stands  for 
Russian  oppression.  The  Wajdelote's  recitals  of  the 
wrongs  of  a  dear  but  downtrodden  land,  the  indigna- 
9 


130  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

tion  and  resentment  under  a  foreign  yoke,  and  th« 
appeal  to  arms  for  freedom  and  revenge,  are  all  spoken 
in  the  cause  of  Poland,  and  are  so  felt  by  the  native 
reader.  Konrad's  dire  vengeance  on  the  conqueror 
is  a  picture  of  the  secret  hope  of  all  Polish  patriots  of 
the  final  overthrow  and  punishment  of  the  tyrant  and 
the  reestablishment  of  Polish  independence. 


Ballade  in  F  Major,   Op.   38 

The  second  ballade,  in  F  major,  is,  of  the  three 
under  consideration,  the  least  of  a  favorite  and  the 
least  played;  probably  because  the  radical  extremes 
of  mood  which  it  presents,  in  abrupt,  almost  painful 
contrast,  its  apparent  incoherency,  and  its  sudden, 
startling,  seemingly  causeless  changes  of  movement, 
render  it  difficult  to  comprehend  and  still  more  so  to 
interpret,  and  difficult  to  follow  with  intelligent  sym- 
pathy even  when  well  rendered. 

It  opens  with  an  exceedingly  simple,  undemonstra- 
tive theme,  in  the  major  key,  almost  too  lucid  and 
childlike  in  the  naive  directness  of  its  utterance,  and 
singularly  devoid  of  the  glowing  warmth  and  color 
which  usually  characterize  the  melodies  by  this  writer. 
Cool,  pure,  and  passionless,  yet  velvet-soft  and  deli- 
cately sweet,  it  floats  upon  the  gentle  pulsations  of  the 
simple  accompaniment,  like  a  snow-white,  freshly 
fragrant  water-lily,  upon  the  crystal  ripples  of  some 
glacier-fed  mountain  lake.  Then  suddenly,  without 
warning  or  apparent  reason,  there  bursts  a  furious 
tempest  of  rage,  pain,  and  conflict,  as  if  some  vast 
Titanic  embodiment  in  bronze  of  lurid  war  had  been 


The  Chopin  Ballades  131 

melted  by  a  world-conflagration  into  a  stream  of 
fluid  destruction,  and  poured  out  upon  some  fair  scene 
of  pastoral  peace  and  happiness. 

Almost  as  suddenly  the  storm  of  fury  abates,  or 
rather  seems  to  recede  into  distance,  sounding  still  for 
a  time,  but  far  and  faint,  as  if  its  tumult  reached  us 
mufiled  by  intervening  walls.  Then  the  first  simple 
theme  returns,  sweetly  calm  in  its  pristine  innocence,  but 
soon  merged  into  a  series  of  plaintive  minor  cadences, 
as  of  pathetic  pleading,  of  earnest,  insistent  supplica- 
tion, interrupted  by  a  brief  and  startlingly  abrupt 
climax,  in  full  massive  chords,  like  the  confident  de- 
fiance hurled  by  the  children  of  light  at  the  hosts  of 
darkness,  certain  of  victory,  in  their  reliance  on  the 
omnipotent  arm  of  the  God  of  battles.  Once  more 
the  gentle  first  theme,  followed  by  those  imploring 
minor  cadences  and  a  repetition  of  the  strong,  cour- 
ageous climax,  and  then  the  tempest  breaks  again  with 
renewed  intensity,  the  stress  of  desperate  strife,  the 
agony  of  terror,  a  seething,  surging,  rushing  torrent 
of  tone,  as  if  men  and  demons  were  struggling  for  life 
in  a  swirling  vortex,  where  the  elemental  forces  of 
ocean  and  fire  had  met  in  a  death-grapple. 

The  finale,  in  presto  movement,  an  impetuous  sweep 
of  gloomy,  exultant  harmonies,  suggests  the  mood  of 
a  brave  but  sorely  tried  spirit,  dominating  distress, 
rising  superior  to  disaster,  and  proudly  triumphant  in 
spite  of  seeming  defeat.  At  the  close,  in  form  of  a 
coda,  a  few  measures  of  the  first  melody  return,  sad- 
dened, but  still  gentle,  ending  plaintively  in  the  minor, 
as  if  to  say,  "There  have  been  great  wrong  and  suffer- 
ing and  bitterness,  but  now  is  peace." 


132   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

Unquestionably  this  work  presents  two  radically 
opposing  elements  in  sharpest  contrast;  the  one, 
reposeful  piyity ;  the  other,  infuriate  passion.  Of  this 
much  we  are  sure  in  simply  listening  to  the  music, 
without  searching  for  historical  origin  or  collateral 
information.  It  is  interesting  to  note  Rubinstein's 
words  with  regard  to  it,  and  to  see  how  near  his  art 
instinct  led  him  to  the  discovery  of  its  realistic  signifi- 
cance, presumably  without  the  aid  of  any  definite 
knowledge  as  to  its  actual  origin.     He  writes  of  it: 

"Is  it  possible  that  the  interpreter  does  not  feel  the 
necessity  of  representing  to  his  hearers  a  field  flower 
caught  by  a  gust  of  wind,  a  caressing  of  the  flower  by 
the  wind,  the  resistance  of  the  flower,  the  stormy 
struggle  of  the  wind,  the  entreaty  of  the  flower,  which 
at  last  lies  broken  there?  This  may  be  paraphrased: 
the  field  flower,  a  rustic  maiden;  the  wind,  a  knight." 

Let  us  now  examine  the  substance  at  least  of  the 
poetic  material  from  which  Chopin  derived  the  mood 
and  suggestion  of  this  musical  work.  Again  it  is  a 
oallad  upon  a  Lithuanian  theme,  from  the  pen  of 
Mickiewicz.  But  this  time  it  is  a  legendary'  and  not  a 
historical  subject  which  is  treated.  The  Polish  ballad 
is  entitled  "The  Switez  Lake,"  and  its  substance  is  here 
given  in  a  somewhat  abbreviated  and  simplified  form: 

In  the  heart  of  Lithuania  lies  the  beautiful,  seques- 
tered Lake  Switez,  its  forest-mantled  shores  rarely 
visited  by  the  foot  of  a  stranger,  but  peopled  by  the 
peasant  fancy  with  wild  legends,  shadowy  traditions, 
and  wraith-like  memories  of  bygone  days.  Its  blue 
waves  murmur,  at  the  foot  of  giant  oaks,  their  strange 
tales  of  nymphs  and  sprites  and  water-kelpies,  while 


The  Chopin  Ballades  133 

through  the  long  and  still  summer  nights  the  sleepy 
branches  make  answer,  in  dreamy  whisperings,  of 
elves  and  gnomes  and  the  uncanny  doings  of  the  little 
people  of  the  forest.  At  least  so  the  belated  country- 
man affirms,  overtaken  by  nightfall  in  this  haunted 
region;  and  many  are  the  tales  of  that  awesome  place 
and  hom*  with  which  he  terrifies  his  companions 
around  the  winter  fire. 

Once,  many  years  ago,  a  gallant  knight,  of  a  most 
ancient  and  lofty  lineage,  with  dauntless  courage  and 
a  pious  heart,  whose  castle  crowned  a  neighboring 
height,  resolved  to  sound  and  solve  the  mystery  hid  in 
its  depths;  and,  taking  with  him  a  mammoth  net  of 
stoutest  cords,  a  score  of  brawny  henchmen  to  draw 
its  meshes,  and  a  venerable  priest,  to  bless  the  catch 
and  exorcise  spirits,  he  proceeded  to  the  shore.  Prayer 
was  said,  the  net  was  flung  and  sank,  and  mighty 
was  the  struggle  that  ensued.  The  tightened  meshes 
strained  to  bursting,  the  taut  ropes  writhed  and 
moaned  like  things  alive,  and  dragged  upon  the  arms 
that  strained  to  draw  them  shoreward.  The  water 
raved  and  churned  against  the  trembling  banks, 
and  black  clouds,  thunder-voiced,  concealed  the  sky. 
The  pious  father's  constant  prayers  at  last  prevailed, 
and  the  net,  with  its  strange  burden,  was  safely  landed. 
A  pale  but  exquisitely  lovely  maid,  with  sweet,  calm 
dignity  in  face  and  mien,  a  wreath  of  snow-white  water- 
lilies  on  her  shining  hair,  arose  from  out  the  tangles  of 
the  net,  and  in  a  voice  like  the  low  murmur  of  soft 
waves  at  twilight,  thus  she  spoke : 

"Rash  knight!  Thy  lineage  and  piety  combined 
protect  thee,  else  hadst  thou  found  a  grave,  with  all 


134  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

thy  following,  in  this  adventure.  But  as  thou  art  of 
godly  mind  and  as  we  are  akin  by  blood,  through  long 
descent,  it  is  vouchsafed  to  me  this  once  to  break  the 
mystic  silence  of  the  centuries,  and  to  reveal  to  thee 
the  secret  of  the  lake,  and  mine,  its  lily  queen. 

"Know  then,  where  now  is  forest  dark  and  dense, 
a  noble  city  reared  its  lofty  battlements  in  former 
years.  My  sire,  its  ruling  prince,  held  all  but  regal 
sway;  and  I,  his  child,  a  princess  well  beloved  by  all, 
counted  my  sunny  years  beside  the  Switez  waves,  as 
blithe  as  they.  One  morning,  in  that  ne'er-to-be- 
forgotten  spring,  the  trumpet  voice  of  war  through  all 
our  streets  rang  out  the  call  to  arms.  Our  royal  mas- 
ter, Mindog,  Lithuania's  king,  had  summoned  all  who 
wielded  lance,  to  join  him  in  the  field,  against  a  horde 
of  merciless  Russian  barbarians,  wasting  all  the  land. 
And  forth  my  father  hastened,  with  him  all  his  goodly 
company  of  knights  and  men  at  arms,  and  left  us 
women,  trembling  and  defenseless,  in  the  town,  trust- 
ing in  God  and  in  our  innocence,  till  their  return. 
That  very  night,  by  a  circuitous  route,  evading 
Mindog's  might  and  my  stout  father's  sword,  the 
Russians  came,  many  as  the  sands  upon  the  shore,  ruth- 
less as  wolves  in  winter's  dearth.  Our  gates  unguarded 
proved  an  easy  prize,  and  in  they  poured,  thronging 
our  streets,  demoniac  in  their  lust  for  blood,  exulting 
in  the  havoc  of  oiu"  homes.  My  maidens,  wild  with 
terror,  crowded  round,  imploring  succor;  while  I,  as 
weak  as  they,  saw  our  dishonor,  worse  than  death, 
stalking  upon  us  from  the  barbarian  ranks. 

"Then,  in  the  frenzied  panic,  some  one  cried,  'Our 
only  hope  is  mutual  destruction!    Let  us  slay  each 


The  Chopin  Ballades  135 

other,  cursed  be  she  who  falters!'  Like  sudden 
inspiration,  the  mad  purpose  seized  us  all.  And  then 
was  seen  a  sight  to  set  red  war  atremble  with  affright, 
and  blanch  the  liurid  sun  to  sickly  pallor.  Fair  hands, 
used  only  to  the  lute  and  broidery  frame,  unsheathed 
the  dagger  and  made  bare  the  breast.  With  clinging 
arms  and  lips  together  pressed,  and  sad  eyes  beaming 
love-light  through  their  tears,  each  sought  to  find  her 
sister's  heart  and  still  its  throbbing  with  her  poniard's 
point.  Yet  strength  and  courage  faltered  at  the  fatal 
stroke.  In  my  great  agony  I  raised  my  voice  in 
prayer  to  Him  who  guides  the  storm-clouds'  wrath 
and  curbs  the  tempest  in  its  wild  career.  'Prevent,' 
I  cried,  'this  awful  crime,  and  save  us  in  this  hour  of 
direst  need!  Send  us  in  mercy  the  swift  death  we 
needs  must  find,  but  let  not  maiden  blood  by  maiden 
hands  be  shed!' 

"The  prayer  was  heard.  An  earthquake  shook  our 
city,  until  it  rocked  and  reeled,  crumbling  and  sinking 
like  the  snow-drifts  in  a  springtime  rain;  while  from 
the  lake  a  mighty  wall  of  water  rose  and  rushed  upon 
us,  whelming  alike  pursuer  and  pursued,  foeman  and 
friend ;  hushing  the  din  of  war  and  shriek  of  victim  in 
one  common  flood  of  cool,  safe  silence. 

"So  our  city  fell.  My  maidens,  all  transformed  to 
water-lilies,  blossom  here  in  happy  purity  through 
long  summers,  and  palsy -withered  is  the  impious  hand 
that  strives  to  drag  them  from  the  friendly  shelter  of 
the  waves ;  while  I,  their  lily  queen,  within  my  crystal 
realm  hold  quiet  sway,  safe  from  the  rude  approach 
of  man's  destructive  passions.  Now  thou  knowest  the 
story,  all  save  this.     My  father  fell  by  Russian  spears. 


136  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

My  princely  brother,  on  returning  from  the  wars,  found 
all  his  realm  a  waste,  his  capital  destroyed,  found  home 
and  sister  vanished  in  the  flood;  and  wandering  in 
other  lands,  when  years  had  passed,  he  wedded  a  stranger 
bride.  From  this  their  union,  through  a  long,  illustri- 
ous line  of  heroes,  thou  art  sprung.  Hence  thou  art 
safe  upon  these  shores,  despite  this  day's  temerity, 
so  long  as  with  a  pure  heart  and  noble  mind,  thou 
dost  guard  our  name  and  honor  in  the  world.  Remem- 
ber this.  But  seek  no  more  to  pierce  the  kindly 
veil  of  mysteries,  not  meant  for  mortal  eyes;  and 
never  hope  or  strive  to  see  again  the  lily  queen  of 
Switez." 

So  speaking,  with  a  smile  of  saddest  sweetness,  she 
turned  slowly  to  the  lake,  and  vanished  in  its  whelming 
waters,  which  closed  with  laughing  ripples  round  her. 

No  one  familiar  with  Chopin's  ballade  in  F  can  fail 
to  perceive  the  close  and  accurate  application  of  the 
music  to  this  romantic  tale.  It  begins  at  and  deals 
with  the  appearance  and  story  of  the  lily  queen,  and 
her  gentle,  pure,  and  winning  personality,  and  soft- 
voiced  narration,  figure  symbolically  in  the  opening 
melody.  The  sudden  burst  of  the  terrific  war  cloud, 
the  maiden's  trust  in  and  confident  appeal  to  a  higher 
power,  the  final  whelming  of  the  city  in  the  friendly 
flood,  follow  successively  in  almost  literal  portrayal, 
the  work  closing  in  the  mood  of  the  maiden's  final 
farewell  and  warning  to  the  adventurous  knight  who 
had  disturbed  her  repose. 

Viewed  from  the  standpoint  of  the  subject-matter, 
the  startling,  almost  drastic,  contrasts  of  the  work 
seem  not  only  intelligible,  but  legitimate  and  artistic. 


The  Chopin  Ballades  137 


Ballade  No.   3,  in  A  Flat,   Op.  47 

This  is  the  best  known,  the  most  played,  and  most 
popular  of  all  the  Chopin  ballades.  Its  warm,  lyric 
opening  theme,  its  strikingly  original  rhythmic  effects, 
its  piquant,  bewitching  second  subject,  full  of  playful 
grace,  as  well  as  its  magnificently  developed  climax, 
one  of  the  finest  in  the  piano  literature,  have  all  en- 
deared it  to  the  hearts  of  Chopin  lovers  and  rendered 
it  one  of  the  most  effective  of  concert  solos. 

Like  the  second  ballade  in  F  major,  this  composi- 
tion is  founded  upon  an  ancient  legend  of  Lake  Switez, 
which  seems  to  be  a  center  about  which  cluster  many 
of  the  Lithuanian  myths.  The  one  in  question  had 
been  previously  treated  by  Chopin's  friend  and  com- 
patriot, Adam  Mickiewicz,  in  the  form  of  a  ballad  in 
Polish  verse,  and  the  substance  of  the  story,  briefly 
and  simply  told,  is  as  follows: 

A  young  and  fearless  knight,  whose  ancestral  castle 
crowned  a  forest-covered  eminence  above  the  beautiful 
blue  lake,  was  wont  to  wander  on  its  lone  and  wooded 
shores  at  evening  and  to  meet  there  clandestinely  his 
radiant,  beautiful,  mysterious  lady-love,  whose  name, 
home,  and  origin  he  was  unable  to  discover,  and  which 
she  persistently  refused  to  disclose.  She  always  ap- 
peared to  him  suddenly,  without  warning  or  visible 
approach,  as  if  born  anew  each  night  of  the  filtering 
moonlight  and  shifting  forest  shadows,  or  as  if  drawing 
her  ethereal  substance  at  will  from  the  floating  mist 
wreaths  above  the  lake.  And  she  vanished  as  miracu- 
lously,  when  she  chose  to  end  their  interview,  dis- 


138  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

solving  from  his  very  arms  into  mist  once  more.  Per- 
haps the  very  mystery  which  enveloped  her  enhanced 
her  charms.  In  any  case,  her  power  grew  upon  the 
knight  till  he  became  most  desperately  enamoured, 
pressing  his  suit  with  growing  ardor.  At  first  she 
coquetted  with  his  passion,  laughing  at  his  fervor  and 
meeting  his  fiery  protestations  with  playful,  incredu- 
lous mockery;  but,  finally  touched  by  his  fiery 
eloquence,  she  made  him  a  conditional  promise.  If  he 
would  prove  his  fidelity,  would  remain  true  to  her  and 
her  memory  during  her  absence,  no  matter  what  temp- 
tations might  arise,  for  the  space  of  just  one  little  pass- 
ing moon,  she  would  then  return,  reveal  her  identity, 
and  become  his  bride,  if  he  still  desired  it. 

Of  course,  he  swore  eternal  fidelity,  and  she,  with  a 
little  half-sad,  half-incredulous  smile,  vanished  into 
the  night  mist.  For  several  evenings  he  wandered, 
lonely  and  disconsolate,  on  the  shores  of  the  lake,  long- 
ing and  vainly  seeking  for  his  absent  love  and  cursing 
the  tardy  hours  of  his  probation.  Then,  when  his 
patience  was  about  exhausted,  he  was  met  there,  on 
the  selfsame  spot,  in  the  same  mystic  moonlight  and 
with  the  same  suddenness  and  mystery,  by  another 
maiden,  even  more  beautiful  than  the  first,  and  not 
inclined  to  be  so  distant.  She  jeered  at  him  for  his 
depression,  for  his  useless  and  stupid  fidelity  to  an 
absent  prude,  while  with  many  lures  and  graces  she 
beckoned  him  on  to  join  her  in  the  moonlit  mazes  of 
the  dance. 

At  first,  remembering  his  promise,  he  made  some 
show  of  resistance,  but  very  soon  he  yielded  com- 
pletely to  her  seductions,  declaring  his  admiration  for 


The  Chopin  Ballades  139 

this  new  beauty  in  ardent  terms,  and  followed  her  with 
extended  arms,  as  she  flitted  on  before  him,  keeping 
always  just  a  little  out  of  reach;  followed,  heedless 
where  his  steps  might  lead,  reckless  of  consequences, 
conscious  only  of  her  tender  glances  and  her  beckoning 
hand,  till,  borne  up  and  on  by  the  spell  of  her  enchant- 
ment, she  had  led  him  far  out  upon  the  treacherous 
surface  of  the  lake,  whose  placid  ripples  seemed  magi- 
cally to  sustain  both  pursuer  and  pursued.  Then, 
when  midway  across  the  lake,  she  turned  upon  him, 
indignation  blazing  in  her  eyes.  With  a  single  impa- 
tient gesture  she  flung  off  her  disguise  and  faced  him,, 
poised  upon  a  curling  wave,  in  all  the  airy  grace  and 
winsomeness  of  his  first  abandoned  love.  "False 
lover!"  she  cried,  "where  is  now  thy  true  love,  thy 
sworn  love?  Forgotten,  forsaken,  ere  the  moon  that 
witnessed  thy  plighted  vows  hath  run  one-quarter  of 
its  little  circle.  Behold  thy  doom!  So  perish  the 
faithless!"  Her  white  arms  waved  in  mystic  incan- 
tation, a  sudden  storm-wind  swept  the  lake,  the  billows 
heaved  and  swirled  beneath  him,  and  a  yawning  chasm 
opened  at  his  feet.  With  a  last  passionate  appeal  he 
sank  to  its  chilly  depths,  while  she,  laughing  in  mock- 
ing derision,  vanished  in  a  shower  of  silver  spray. 

The  peasants  declare  that  to  this  day,  on  quiet 
moonlit  nights,  one  may  still  see  the  white  form  of 
the  Switez  maid  wandering,  as  if  in  search,  among  the 
shadows  of  the  forest-mantled  shores  or  gliding  over 
the  surface  of  the  lake ;  while  mingling  with  the  whisper 
of  the  wind  among  the  trees  and  the  murmurs  of  the 
waves  upon  the  strand,  one  still  hears  the  echo  of  her 
words:  " Forsaken,  forsworn.    So  perish  the  faithless." 


140  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  Switez  maid,  as  told  by 
Mickiewicz  in  inimitable  Polish  verse,  and  translated 
into  the  symbolic  language  of  music  by  the  Polish 
tone-poet,  Chopin,  in  the  A  flat  ballade. 

The  first  warmly  emotional  theme  of  the  composi- 
tion, with  its  tender,  persuasive  cadences,  its  ever- 
growing passionateness,  symbolizes  the  ardent  and 
impulsive  hero  of  the  legend ;  while  the  bright,  piquant 
second  theme  admirably  portrays  the  arch,  coquettish 
heroine,  with  her  airy  witcheries  and  playful  grace. 
It  cannot  be  mistaken,  for  it  compels  attention  as  it 
.enters,  after  a  moment  of  suspense,  in  radical  contrast 
to  what  precedes,  with  the  dainty  rhythmic  effect, 
so  difficult  to  render  for  most  players.  Its  intro- 
duction later  in  a  different  key,  with  different  accom- 
paniment and  embellishments,  represents  the  disguise 
with  which  the  maid  attempts  to  cloak  her  identity, 
but  the  same  melody  is  distinctly  traceable  through 
all  changes.  The  superb  climax  near  the  close  of  the 
work  forcibly  depicts  at  once  the  swift  approach  and 
resistless  sweep  of  the  tempest  upon  the  lake  and  the 
intensity  of  the  emotional  situation  at  the  moment 
of  the  final  catastrophe.  Here,  too,  is  heard  again 
the  first  melody,  the  hero  theme,  in  a  brief  return, 
as  he  makes  his  last,  vain  appeal,  and  we  even  catch 
the  vanishing  ripple  of  the  maiden's  mocking  laughter. 

The  details  of  the  story  are  not  so  literally  worked 
out  in  the  music,  or  followed  with  so  much  realistic 
fidelity,  as  wotdd  have  been  the  case  with  Liszt  or 
Wagner,  or  with  some  other  more  recent  writers. 
Chopin's  art  is  always  rather  suggestive  than  descrip- 
tive, dealing  directly  with  the  moods  evoked  by  a 


The  Chopin  Ballades  141 

given  situation  or  event,  rather  than  with  the  physical 
aspect  of  the  events  themselves;  with  the  awe  and 
terror  produced  by  the  tempest,  for  instance,  rather 
than  with  the  audible  or  visible  phenomena  of  the 
tempest.  In  this  particular  case  he  deals  mainly  with 
the  general  emotional  and  mental  elements  which  under- 
lie the  legend  and  the  characteristics  of  the  two  person- 
ages who  figure  in  it,  instead  of  treating  its  successive 
incidents  in  detail,  or  in  definite  chronological  order. 
The  work  is  therefore  sketched  on  broad,  fundamental 
lines,  and  leaves  the  setting  and  filling  in  in  large 
measure  to  the  imagination  of  the  hearer.  This  must 
always  be  the  ideal  method  in  an  art  so  ethereal  and, 
in  one  sense,  so  vague  as  that  of  music.  Still,  the  con- 
nection between  the  music  of  this  ballade  and  the  actual 
scenes  and  development  of  the  legend  is  distinct  enough 
to  be  easily  traced  by  those  familiar  with  the  story, 
and  players  or  listeners  will  find,  as  always,  that  the 
purely  musical  interest  of  this  and  all  the  Chopin  bal- 
lades is  materially  deepened  and  increased  by  the 
background  of  relevant  facts — by  an  acquaintance 
with  the  material  on  which  they  are  based  and  which 
gave  to  the  composer  the  impulse  for  their  creation. 


Chopin:    Polonaise,  A  Flat  Major, 
Op-  53 


NTERESTING  from  a  historic  as  well 
as  a  musical  standpoint  is  the  ori- 
gin of  the  polonaise.  In  the  year 
1 573.  when  the  Polish  throne  became 
vacant  on  the  extinction  of  the 
royal  dynasty  of  Jagiello,  a  national 
assembly  of  electors  was  convened 
at  the  then  capital,  Cracow,  to  decide 
upon  a  new  sovereign.  The  candidates  for  the  throne 
were  all  of  royal  blood — Ernest  of  Austria,  Henry  of 
Anjou  of  the  house  of  Valois,  brother  to  the  ruling 
king  of  France,  a  Swedish  prince,  and  Ivan  the  Terrible 
of  Russia.  But  the  real  struggle  lay  between  the 
Austrian  and  French  princes.  The  choice  fell  at  last 
on  Henry  of  Anjou,  later  himself  king  of  France  as 
Henry  III. 

In  the  following  autumn  he  ascended  the  Polish 
throne,  and  among  the  many  gorgeous  ceremonials 
attending  his  coronation,  was  one  quite  natural  and 
proper  under  the  circumstances — a  formal  presenta- 
tion to  the  new  monarch,  of  the  leading  dignitaries 
and  personages  of  his  realm.     It  took  place  in  the  vast 

142 


Chopin:    Polonaise,  A  Flat  Major      143 

and  magnificent  throne  hall  of  the  royal  castle  at 
Cracow.  The  nobles  and  officials,  each  with  his  lady 
on  his  arm,  defiled  before  the  throne  where  the  monarch 
was  seated,  in  a  stately  procession,  and  as  they  passed 
before  the  king  were  presented  by  the  master  of  cere- 
monies. This  formal  march  was  accompanied  by 
suitable  music,  written  expressly  for  the  occasion 
and  performed  by  the  royal  band.  Whether  this  em- 
bryonic polonaise  is  still  in  existence,  no  one  knows; 
probably  not;  but  two  distinct  ideas  were,  or  should 
have  been,  before  the  composer's  mind  in  penning 
the  harmonies  for  this  solemn  ceremonial. 

First,  of  course,  to  write  music  eminently  suited  to 
the  occasion,  to  embody,  and,  if  possible,  enhance  all 
the  pomp  and  splendor  of  the  magnificent,  august 
assembly;  second,  to  portray  through  the  music,  so 
far  as  might  be,  something  of  the  national  character- 
istics of  this  Polish  race  which  the  Frenchman  came 
as  a  stranger  to  rule  over.  The  music  in  its  own  way 
was  to  serve  as  a  species  of  introduction. 

Little  by  little,  from  this  crude  but  characteristic 
beginning  was  developed  through  the  centuries  the 
peculiar  national  dance,  or,  more  strictly  speaking, 
march  of  the  Poles;  and  the  music  performed  during 
its  progress  came  to  have  among  dance  forms  the  same 
title.  It  partook  of  the  various  stages  of  evolution 
to  which  all  music  was  subject  at  different  epochs, 
and  within  the  last  hundred  years  has  been  modified 
to  keep  pace  with  the  general  development  of  musical 
resources.  But  however  it  may  vary  in  minor  details 
of  form  and  treatment,  every  polonaise  which  is  true 
to  itself  must  express  the  original  ideas  upon  which 


144  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

the  form  was  primarily  based — on  the  one  hand  a  splen- 
did ceremonial,  on  the  other  Polish  national  life. 

In  the  present  day  the  polonaise  is  a  universally 
accepted  musical  form,  common  property  with  the  com- 
posers of  all  nations.  But  Chopin,  Polish  by  birth, 
education,  and  sympathies,  found  it  strictly  within 
his  scope,  and  has  easily  surpassed  all  other  writers 
in  number,  quality,  and  characteristic  force  as  a  polo- 
naise writer. 

Of  his  many  works  in  this  vein,  the  Op.  53,  in  A  flat, 
is  in  my  opinion  decidedly  the  best,  both  as  regardc 
virile  power  and  direct,  forceful  expression  of  the  orig- 
inal polonaise  idea.  It  begins  with  a  wild,  impetuous 
introduction,  brief  but  stirring,  a  sort  of  fanfare  of 
drums  and  trumpets,  intended  to  call  the  people  to 
order  and  to  establish  at  the  outset  the  tonality  of 
the  mood,  so  to  speak.  Then  follows  the  swinging, 
pompous  measure  of  the  polonaise  proper,  readily  sug- 
gesting by  its  splendid  martial  harmonies  the  proud 
military  bearing,  the  gorgeous  armor,  and  the  stately 
tread  of  those  steel-clad  feudal  heroes,  as  they  defiled 
before  the  throne. 

In  place  of  the  trio,  usually  of  a  more  quiet  nature 
in  works  of  this  kind,  Chopin  has  introduced  a  very 
singular  passage,  the  most  strikingly  original  portion 
of  the  whole  composition — a  long-sustained,  stupen- 
dous octave  climax  of  the  left  hand,  consisting  of  a 
little  rhythmic  figure  of  four  notes,  constantly  reiter- 
ated with  growing  power,  against  a  sort  of  trumpet 
obligate  in  brilliant  measured  chords  for  the  right. 
The  movement  vividly  suggests  the  tramp  of  cavalry. 
The  composer  had  in  mind  the  Polish  light-horse  of 


Chopin:  Polonaise,  A  Flat  Major      145 

medieval  fame,  a  very  aristocratic  body  of  picked 
horsemen,  composed  of  the  flower  of  Polish  chivalry 
and  disciplined  in  constant  warfare  with  the  Turks. 
A  number  of  the  brilliant  officers  of  this  division  were 
necessarily  present  at  the  coronation  ceremony  when 
the  polonaise  form  originated,  and  these  with  their 
exploits  Chopin  endeavors  to  introduce  by  means  of 
this  singular  passage. 

There  is  a  curious  anecdote  afloat  concerning  the 
effect  of  this  movement  on  the  composer  himself.  On 
one  occasion,  when  playing  the  nearly  completed  work, 
his  nervous  organism  enfeebled  by  illness  and  his  im- 
agination intensely  excited  by  the  fever -glow  of  com- 
position, he  was  seized  by  a  peculiar  hallucination. 
He  fancied  that  a  band  of  the  knights  he  had  been 
attempting  to  portray,  came  riding  in  from  the  gloom 
of  the  outer  night,  in  through  the  opening  walls  of  his 
apartment,  arrayed  in  their  antique  war  panoply, 
horse  and  rider  just  as  they  might  have  arisen  from 
their  century-old  graves  in  Poland.  He  was  so  over- 
come by  this  self-invoked  apparition  that  he  actually 
fled  from  the  room,  and  it  was  some  days  before  he 
could  be  induced  to  re-enter  it  or  resume  work  on  the 
mighty  polonaise. 

Immediately  following  the  great  octave  climax  re- 
ferred to  is  a  subdued,  vague,  fearsome  little  passage 
in  light  running  figures,  totally  foreign  in  movement, 
mood,  and  even  key  to  the  remainder  of  the  work, 
for  which  we  would  be  at  a  loss  to  account  if  unac- 
quainted with  the  circumstances  narrated,  but  which, 
with  the  light  just  thrown  upon  it,  is  readily  under- 
stood. The  author  seems  to  have  lost  for  the  time  the 
10 


146  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

thread  of  the  composition,  to  have  drifted  far  from  its 
martial  mood  and  swinging  rhythm,  but  after  a  period 
of  groping  indecision,  through  which  we  hear  the  trepi- 
dation and  reluctant  fascination  with  which  he  again 
approaches  this  monster  of  his  own  creation,  with  a 
sudden  boldness  of  attack  he  regains  the  clew,  resumes 
with  energy  the  march  movement,  and  the  work  sweeps 
to  its  close  with  even  more  than  its  original  power  and 
splendor. 


Chopin:    Impromptu  in  A  Flat, 
Op.  29 


IGHT,  graceful,  dainty,  capricious, 
full  of  playful  tenderness  and  deli- 
cate fancy  is  this  little  work,  written 
for  and  presented  as  a  wedding 
gift  to  one  of  his  favorite  pupils, 
La  Comtesse  de  Lobau,  to  whom  it 
is  dedicated.  The  first  movement 
embodies  the  joyous,  hopeful,  con- 
gratulatory spirit  of  the  occasion,  expressed  with  all 
that  refined  elegance  and  polished  perfection  of  style 
of  which  Chopin  was  so  preeminently  the  master, 
both  in  music  and  language.  It  is  the  most  unquali- 
fiedly optimistic  strain  from  his  pen  with  which  I  am 
acquainted. 

The  trio,  in  F  minor,  brings  a  touch  of  half-veiled 
sadness  and  irrepressible  regret,  as  if  called  forth  by 
the  thought  that  their  art  work  together  is  now  to  end. 
She  has  been  for  years  one  of  his  most  talented,  dili- 
gent, and  interesting  students.  She  is,  like  himself, 
a  Polish  exile  in  a  foreign  land,  and  their  community 
of  sympathies  and  sorrows,  combined  with  her  charm- 
ing personality  and  congenial  temperament,  have 
tended  to  merge  the  relations  of  teacher  and  pupil  into 

147 


148  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

the  closer  bonds  of  a  life-long  friendship.  He  is  natur- 
ally reluctant  to  lose  her,  but  this  mood  of  depression 
is  soon  subordinated  to  the  thought  that  she  has  found 
the  philosopher's  stone,  the  fabled  blue  flower  of  the 
German  poets,  the  subtile,  yet  supreme  panacea  for 
all  human  ills — love.  This  idea  is  expressed  in  the 
last  half  of  the  trio  as  only  Chopin  could  express  it; 
and  the  work  ends  with  a  repetition  of  the  first  strain, 
brightly,  happily,  with  a  certain  restful  completeness 
of  fulfilled  desire  in  the  reiterated  closing  chords. 


Chopin:    Fantasie  Impromptu, 
Op.  66 


MONG  other  manuscripts  found  on 
Chopin's  writing-table  after  his  death 
was  the  original  of  this  composition, 
complete  in  every  detail,  but  written 
across  the  back,  in  his  own  trem- 
bling hand,  were  the  words,  "To 
be  destroyed  when  I  am  gone." 
It  is  difficult  to  account  for  this 
injunction,  except  upon  the  theory  that  he  feared  that 
both  the  form  and  the  content  of  the  work  were  too 
original,  too  subtle  and  complex,  and  too  wholly  im- 
familiar  to  the  musical  world  of  his  day,  to  be  readily 
comprehended,  and  that  it  would  either  suffer  from 
incorrect  rendition  or  be  condemned  and  ignored. 
So  he  preferred  a  quick  death  by  fire  for  this  child 
of  his  sad  later  days,  to  a  slow  death  by  mutilation  or 
cruel  neglect. 

Fortunately  the  request  was  disregarded  by  his 
friends.  The  work  was  published  and  has  become 
one  of  his  most  beloved,  as  it  is  one  of  his  most  fault- 
lessly beautiful  compositions.  The  peculiarity  of 
form  referred  to  is  familiar  to  all  who  have  attempted 
the  study  of  this  impromptu.     The  whole  first  move- 

149 


150  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

ment,  consisting  of  a  continuous  rapid  figure  of  four 
notes  in  the  right  hand  against  three  in  the  left,  is  one 
of  the  most  unusual  and  difficult  musical  problems  to 
solve  satisfactorily,  and  only  to  be  mastered  by  long 
and  special  practice — a  case,  as  I  have  often  said, 
where  it  is  well  to  remember  the  biblical  injunction, 
"let  not  thy  right  hand  know  what  thy  left  hand 
doeth."  But  when  smoothly  played,  it  produces  just 
that  sinuous,  interwoven,  flowing  effect  which  the 
composer  desired,  and  which  could  not  have  been 
obtained,  in  such  perfection,  in  any  other  way. 

The  content  of  this  composition,  like  that  of  many 
of  Chopin's  smaller  works,  is  purely  emotional,  like 
a  strictly  lyric  poem,  by  his  literary  counterpart 
Tennyson,  for  instance;  it  is  a  wholly  subjective 
expression  of  a  mental  state,  an  emotional  condition, 
not  of  any  scene  or  any  action.  It  touches  the  minor 
key  and  sounds  the  plaintive  harmonies  to  which  his 
heart-strings  were  tuned  and  vibrating  at  the  time 
when  it  was  written.  It  voices  a  soft  summer  twilight 
mood,  half  sad,  half  tender,  full  of  vague  regrets,  of 
indefinite  longings  and  aspirations,  of  fluttering  hope, 
never  destined  to  be  realized,  and  bright  fleeting 
memories  that  rise  and  pass,  dimmed  by  intervening 
clouds  of  sorrow  and  disappointment,  like  the  shifting 
forms  and  hues  of  a  kaleidoscope  seen  through  a  misty 
glass,  or  the  luminous  phantoms  of  dead  joys  and 
shadowy  suggestions  of  the  "might  have  been," 
against  the  gray  background  of  a  sad  present  and  an 
uncertain,  promiseless  future.  It  is  a  strange,  deli- 
cately complex  mood,  a  mood  of  life's  sunset  hour, 
colored  by  the  pathetic  glories  of  the  dying  day,  and 


Chopin:  Fantasie  Impromptu  151 

the  depressing,  yet  tranquilizing  shadows  of  the  com- 
ing night — a  mood  well-nigh  impossible  to  express, 
but  perfectly  embodied  in  the  music. 

The  following  simple  little  verses,  in  which,  as  will 
be  seen,  has  been  made  a  somewhat  free  use  of  the 
suggestive  symbolism  of  nature,  may  serve  to  illustrate, 
though  by  no  means  to  the  writer's  satisfaction,  his 
conception  of  the  artistic  significance  of  this  compo- 
sition: 

THE  FANTASIE  IMPROMPTU. 
The  sigh  of  June  through  the  swaying  trees. 
The  scent  of  the  rose,  new  blown,  on  th*  freeze. 
The  sound  of  waves  on  a  distant  strand- 
The  shadows  falling  on  sea  and  land  ; 

All  these  are  found 

In  this  stream  of  sound, 
This  murmuring,  mystical,  minor  stral*» 

And  stars  that  glimmer  in  misty  skie», 
Like  tears  that  shimmer  in  sorrowing  eyes. 
And  the  throb  of  a  heart  that  beat?  in  tune 
With  tender  regrets  of  a  ha^ypi*"  June, 

When  life  was  new 

And  love  was  true. 
And  the  soul  was  a  «Mi«er  to  sorrow  and  pain. 


Chopin:  Tarantelle,  A  Flat,  Op.  43 


RILIylANT,  effective,  and  not  exces- 
sively difficult  though  it  be,  this  ad- 
mirably constructed  and  thoroughly 
characteristic  tarantelle  in  A  flat  is 
but  little  played ;  perhaps  because  it 
appeals  less  to  the  love  of  the  "true 
Chopinism  of  Chopin"  than  most  of 
his  compositions,  as  being  out  of  the 
recognized  Chopin  vein,  deficient  in  the  special  melodic 
and  emotional  elements  usually  distinguishing  his  works. 
Nevertheless,  considered  objectively  as  a  tarantelle, 
from  the  standpoint,  not  of  Chopinism,  but  of  what 
the  true  tarantelle  should  be,  it  is  one  of  the  best  ever 
written, — hence  one  of  his  masterpieces, — and  furnishes 
another  proof  of  the  almost  infinite  versatility  of  his 
creative  power,  both  in  style  and  in  mood. 

The  origin  of  the  tarantelle,  as  a  musical  form,  is 
interesting  and  must  be  considered  in  judging  the 
real  merit  of  this  or  any  similar  work.  The  name  is 
derived  from  that  of  the  tarantula,  that  venomous 
denizen  of  southern  climes,  of  the  spider  species,  whose 
bite  is  usually  fatal.  There  is  a  generally  prevalent 
belief  among  the  peasants  of  both  Spain  and  Italy, 
a  belief  founded,   no   doubt,   upon  centuries  of  ex- 

152 


Chopin:  Tarantelle,  A  Flat  153 

perience,  that  there  is  but  one  reliable  cure  for  this 
poison,  and  one  which  Nature  herself  prescribes  and 
imperatively  demands — that  of  violent  and  protracted 
bodily  exercise,  and  the  consequent  excessively  pro- 
fuse perspiration,  enabling  the  system  to  throw  off 
the  poison  through  the  pores.  The  idea  has  the 
same  pathological  base  as  the  ancient  Arabic  cure  for 
hydrophobia,  recently  revived  with  great  success 
in  thi-;  day  of  resurrection  of  buried  wisdom — an  ex- 
tremely hot  and  long-continued  steam  bath. 

It  is  claimed  that  the  victim  of  the  tarantula  is 
seized  by  a  delirious  desire,  an  uncontrollable  madness 
for  dancing,  which,  if  fully  gratified,  in  fact  encour- 
aged and  stimulated  to  the  utmost,  may  save  his  life 
by  means  of  the  prosaic  but  practical  process  above 
suggested.  So  his  friends  assemble  in  haste,  form  a 
circle  on  the  village  green  or  plaza,  strike  up  the 
wildest,  most  furiously  rapid  and  exciting  music  pos- 
sible, on  any  instrument  that  may  be  at  hand,  pref- 
erably the  mandolin  and  tambourine,  as  the  most 
rhythmic  and  inspiring,  and  take  turns  dancing  with 
him,  until  each  is  exhausted  and  gives  place  to  the 
next,  and  until  the  victim  recovers  or  dies  of  fatigue. 
The  faster  the  tempo,  the  more  intoxicating  the 
music,  the  better  the  purpose  will  be  served,  and 
the  greater  the  hope  of  a  successful  cure. 

From  this  crude  and  primitive  germ  the  modern 
musical  art  form,  known  and  used  all  over  the  world, 
has  gradually  developed,  retaining,  of  course,  as  must 
every  characteristic  dance  form,  the  spirit  and  funda- 
mental element  of  the  situation  and  circumstances 
which  gave  it  birth. 


154    Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

The  true  tarantella  may  be  either  in  a  major  or 
minor  key,  the  latter  being  most  common;  but  it 
must  be  wild,  stirring,  exceedingly  rapid,  with  a  strong 
rhythmic  swing  and  a  certain  dash  and  go,  irresistibly 
suggesting  the  fever  of  the  dance  at  its  most  delirious 
ecstasy.  It  is  always  written  in  six-eight  time,  which 
is  somewhat  singular,  as  it  has  none  of  the  usual 
rhythmic  peculiarities  of  that  measure,  but  invariably 
produces  the  impression  of  twelve-eight,  or,  perhaps 
still  more  strongly,  that  of  four-four  with  the  beats 
divided  into  triplets.  In  fact,  this  is  generally  the 
best  method  of  counting  it  for  the  pupil.  It  should 
contain  no  harmonic  or  technical  complexities  to  dis- 
tract the  attention  of  either  player  or  listener  from 
the  regular  rhythmic  swing  and  form  and  movement 
of  the  dance ;  and  the  melodic  trio,  occasionally  intro- 
duced by  some  composers,  is  always  an  incongruous 
artistic  absurdity,  wholly  out  of  place. 

Though  the  musical  form  is  common  property  of  all 
composers  in  all  lands,  the  actual  dance,  as  such,  is 
specially  identified  with  southern  Spain  and  Italy, 
and  is  rarely  used  elsewhere.  To  the  tourist  one  of 
the  most  unique  and  vividly  interesting  episodes  of 
his  sojourn  in  these  localities  is  the  performance  of 
the  tarantelle  by  one  of  the  trained  dancing  girls, 
which  may  be  witnessed  almost  any  evening,  given 
with  all  the  dash  and  verve  of  the  southern  tem- 
perament, a  perfect  embodiment  of  grace  and  fire  and 
dance  frenzy. 

This  tarantelle  by  Chopin  possesses  all  the  essential 
characteristics  in  a  high  degree,  with  not  a  single 
lapse  or  irrelevant  digression  in  mood,  in  form,  even 


Chopin:  Tarantelle,  A  Flat  155 

in  the  details  of  accompaniment.  It  may  be  taken  as 
«  model  of  the  true  tarantelle,  spirited,  well  sustained 
throughout,  and  eminently  playable. 


Chopin:    Berceuse,  Op.  57 


piE  Chopin  Berceuse  (which  is  the 
French  word  for  cradle-song)  is  a 
most  unique  as  well  as  most  ideally 
beautiful  composition,  standing 
alone  in  all  piano  literature,  as 
regards  its  form  and  harmonic 
structure,  the  only  one  of  its  spe- 
cies. It  is  beyond  all  question  or 
comparison,  the  finest  cradle-song  ever  written  for 
the  piano,  an  exceptionally  perfect  example  of  that 
rare  blending  of  spontaneous  genius  and  mechanical 
ingenuity,  for  which  Chopin  was  so  preeminent,  re- 
sulting in  a  work  matchless  in  its  originality,  its 
suggestive  realism,  its  delicacy  of  finish,  and  its  poetic 
content.  An  organ  point  on  D  flat,  which  is  its  only 
bass  note,  sustained  throughout  the  entire  composi- 
tion, and  a  couplet  of  the  simplest  chords,  the  tonic 
and  dominant  seventh,  alternating  back  and  forth 
in  a  swinging,  rocking  motion,  form  the  accompani- 
ment, continued  practically  without  change,  from 
first  measure  to  last,  portraying  naturally,  easily,  yet 
unmistakably,  the  soothing  monotony  of  the  rockaby 
movement.  The  left  hand  may  be  said  to  rock  the 
cradle  throughout  the   whole  composition,    while  in 

156 


Chopin:   Berceuse  157 

the  soft,  continually  intertwining  melody  in  the 
right  hand,  like  an  endless,  infolding  circle  of  maternal 
love,  we  find  the  lullaby  song  of  the  mother,  sung 
as  she  sits  there  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight,  rocking 
her  little  one  to  sleep. 

Around  and  over  this  melody  Chopin  has  flung, 
with  his  own  inimitable  delicacy,  a  silver  lace-work  of 
embellishment,  falling  soft  and  light  as  the  moon- 
light spray  from  fountains  in  fairyland,  as  through 
the  idealizing  summer  haze,  half  veiling  a  distant  land- 
scape, we  seem  to  catch  dim  glimpses  of  the  dream- 
pictures,  the  fleeting  fancies,  the  changing  phantas- 
magoria of  prophetic  visions,  that  drift  through  the 
brain  of  the  mother  as  she  sits  there  in  the  gathering 
dusk,  waiting  for  the  little  eyes  to  be  tightly  closed, 
and  wondering  vaguely  to  herself  on  what  scenes  they 
will  open  in  the  far  future  years. 

Slower  and  gentler  grows  the  motion  of  the  cradle, 
softer  and  lower  the  lullaby  song,  further  and  further 
the  dream  pictures  drift  into  the  shadows,  until  at 
last  the  wings  of  slumber  are  folded  about  the  little 
one.  Silence  reigns.  The  mother's  daily  task  of 
loving  ministry  is  ended  and  she,  too,  may  rest.  The 
two  lingering  closing  chords,  soft  and  slow,  suggest 
the  moment  when  she  rises  from  the  cradle  and  spreads 
her  hands  in  silent  benediction  over  the  sleeping  child. 

Infinite  tenderness  and  delicacy  are  needed  for  the 
interpretation  of  this  composition;  a  tone  like  violet 
velvet,  and  a  light,  fluent  finger  technic,  to  which 
its  really  extreme  difficulties  seem  like  dainty  play. 


Chopin:    Scherzo  in  B  Flat  Minor, 
Op.  3 1 


VERY  familiar,  yet  always  fresh  and 
intensely  interesting  composition  is 
this  scherzo.  The  name  is  an  Italian 
word  signifying  a  jest,  and  we  find 
in  musical  nomenclature  a  number 
of  derivatives  from  it,  as  scherzino 
(little  jest)  and  scherzando  (jesting- 
ly, playfully).  The  term  is  used 
by  most  composers  to  designate  compositions  that  are 
bright,  playful,  humorous  in  character.  Nearly  all  the 
leading  composers  have  written  more  or  less  in  this  vein. 
Mendelssohn  particularly  excelled  in  it,  and  even  serious 
old  Beethoven  became  quite  jocose  at  times  in  the 
scherzo  movements  of  his  symphonies ;  though  it  always 
reminds  one  of  the  sportive  dancing  of  an  elephant. 

Chopin  applied  the  name  to  four  of  his  greatest, 
most  intense  and  impassioned  works,  seemingly 
without  the  smallest  reason  or  relevancy.  Why,  no 
one  can  even  surmise,  unless  it  may  have  been  in  a 
mood  of  sardonic  perversity,  of  sarcastic  bitterness, 
purposely  to  mislead  the  public  as  to  the  real  artistic 
intention  and  significance  of  the  music,  and  see  if  they 
would  have  sufficient  perception  to  discover  it  for 

158 


Chopin:   Scherzo  in   B   Flat  Minor     159 

themselves.  It  is  a  sad  commentary  on  the  insight 
of  many  of  our  so-called  musicians,  that  they  have 
not  done  so  even  to  this  day,  and  persist  in  playing 
the  Chopin  scherzi  jestingly  and  as  trivially  as  possible, 
which  may  be  the  subtle,  covert  jest  which  Chopin 
intended.  Who  knows?  In  reality  these  four  works, 
especially  the  first  three  of  them,  are  among  his 
greatest  and  grandest.  They  are  broad,  heroic, 
seriously  and  profoundly  emotional  productions,  mark- 
ing the  high- water  line  of  his  creative  power;  full  of 
the  strength  and  virile  energy  which  those  acquainted 
only  with  his  nocturnes  and  waltzes  are  inclined  to 
deny  him  altogether,  but  in  which  he  far  exceeds  all 
other  composers,  past  or  present,  with  the  possible 
exception  of  Beethoven  and  Wagner.  Jests  only  in 
name,  or,  if  in  fact,  then  in  the  sense  of  bitterest 
satire,  aimed  at  the  world  and  at  life,  jests  written  in 
the  heart's  blood  of  the  composer;  written  when 
Poland,  his  beloved  native  land,  lay  in  her  death 
agony,  when  three  great  European  powers  had  com- 
bined to  write  the  word  finis  in  Polish  blood  and  tears, 
across  the  last  page  of  her  history.  What  wonder  that 
the  music  throbs  with  intense  but  conflicting  emotions 
— fiery  indignation,  fierce  defiance,  bitter  scorn,  and, 
in  the  next  breath,  pitiful  tenderness  for  the  wronged 
and  the  suffering,  heart-breaking  sorrow  for  the  un- 
availing heroism  and  wasted  lives  of  his  countrymen ! 
All  these  moods  will  be  found  in  swift  and  sharply 
contrasting  succession  in  all  the  four  scherzi,  but 
notably  in  the  one  in  B  flat  minor,  which  I  regard 
as  the  best  of  the  four.  The  seeming  incongruity 
between  its  name  and  its  musical  content,  its  ostensible 


l6o  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

and  its  real  significance,  always  recalls  to  me  those 
famous  lines : 

"  The  lip  that's  first  to  wing  the  jest 
Is  first  to  breathe  the  secret  sigh  ; 
The  laugh  that  rings  with  keenest  zest 
But  chokes  the  flood-gates  of  the  eye." 


Chopin:    Prelude  (D  Flat  Major), 
Op.  28,  No.  15 


UNIQUE  position  in  pianoforte  litera- 
ture is  occupied  by  these  Preludes, 
Op.  28.  They  derive  their  name 
rather  from  their  form  than  from 
their  musical  import.  Like  the  usual 
preludes  to  songs*,  or  more  extended 
musical  works,  they  are  short, 
fragmentary  tone  sketches  rather 
than  complete  pictures;  each  consisting,  as  a  rule, 
of  a  single,  simple  movement,  and  embodying  but 
a  single  concrete  idea,  and  seeming  to  imply  by  its 
brevity  and  its  suggestive  rather  than  fully  descrip- 
tive character,  that  a  more  elaborately  developed 
composition  is  to  follow,  to  which  this  has  been  but  an 
introduction  and  in  which  the  idea,  here  merely  out- 
lined, will  receive  more  exhaustive  treatment.  In 
reality,  however,  each  of  these  preludes  is  complete  in 
itself;  an  exquisite  musical  vignette  containing,  like 
some  dainty  vial  of  hand-cut  Venetian  glass,  the  dis- 
tilled essence  of  dead  flowers  of  memory  and  experience 
from  Chopin's  past;  particularly  of  scenes,  episodes, 
and  emotional  impressions  of  his  romantic  life  on  the 
island  of  Majorca.  Just  as  a  painter  might  have 
II  161 


1 62   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

sketched,  with  hasty  but  truthfully  graphic  pencil, 
on  the  pages  of  his  portfolio,  the  fleeting  impressions 
produced  upon  his  senses  and  imagination  by  this 
novel,  picturesque  environment,  so  the  composer  has 
preserved  in  these  bits  of  offhand  but  vivid  tone 
painting,  glimpses  into  his  daily  life,  his  moods  and 
experiences  during  that  winter  of  1838-39. 

Banished  by  his  physicians  to  this  Mediterranean 
isle,  in  the  hope  of  benefit  to  his  fast  failing  health, 
and  refused  shelter  in  any  hotel  or  private  residence, 
on  account  of  the  there  prevalent  belief  that  consump- 
tion was  contagious,  Chopin  and  the  little  party  of  de- 
voted friends  who  accompanied  him  (most  notable 
among  whom  was  the  famous  French  novelist,  George 
Sand)  were  forced  to  improvise  a  temporary  abode 
in  the  semi-habitable  wing  of  an  old  ruined  convent, 
which  had  been  abandoned  by  the  monks.  It  was 
picturesquely  situated  on  a  rocky  promontory,  com- 
manding a  view,  on  the  one  side,  of  the  open  sea, 
dotted  with  the  countless  white  sails  of  Mediterranean 
commerce;  on  the  other,  of  the  sheltered  bay,  the 
village  beyond,  and  the  lofty  volcanic  mountains  in 
the  background.  Here  they  spent  the  winter,  and 
here  nearly  all  of  the  preludes,  with  many  others  of 
Chopin's  most  poetic  smaller  works,  originated — 
artistic  crystallizations  of  passing  impressions  and  ex- 
periences, concerning  which  and  the  life  in  which  they 
originated,  George  Sand  writes:  "While  staying  here 
he  composed  some  short  but  very  beautiful  pieces 
which  he  modestly  entitled  preludes.  They  were 
real  masterpieces.  Some  of  them  create  such  vivid 
impressions  that  the  shades  of  the  dead  monks  seem 


Chopin:    Prelude  (D  Flat  Major)       163 

to  rise  and  pass  before  the  hearer  in  solemn  and  gloomy 
funeral  pomp.  Others  are  full  of  charm  and  melan- 
choly, glowing  with  the  sparkling  fire  of  enthusiasm, 
breathing  with  the  hope  of  restored  health.  The  laugh- 
ter of  the  children  at  play,  the  distant  strains  of  the 
guitar,  the  twitter  of  birds  on  the  damp  branches, 
would  call  forth  from  his  soul  melodies  of  indescribable 
sweetness  and  grace.  But  many  also  are  so  full  of 
gloom  and  sadness  that,  in  spite  of  the  pleasure  they 
afford,  the  listener  is  filled  with  pain.  Some  of  his 
later  tone-poems  bring  before  us  a  sparkling  crystal 
stream  reflecting  the  sunbeams.  Chopin's  quieter  com- 
positions remind  us  of  the  song  of  the  lark  as  it  lightly 
soars  into  the  ether,  or  the  gentle  gliding  of  the  swan 
over  the  smooth  mirror  of  the  waters ;  they  seem  filled 
with  the  holy  calm  of  nature.  When  Chopin  was  in  a 
despondent  mood,  the  piercing  cry  of  the  hungry  eagle 
among  the  crags  of  Majorca,  the  mournful  wailing  of 
the  storm,  and  the  stern  immovability  of  the  snow- 
clad  heights,  would  awaken  gloomy  fancies  in  his  soul. 
Then  again,  the  perfume  of  the  orange  blossoms,  the 
vine  bending  to  the  earth  beneath  its  rich  burden,  the 
peasant  singing  his  Moorish  songs  in  the  fields,  would 
fill  him  with  delight." 

The  Prelude  in  D  flat,  No.  15,  which  I  select  as  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  characteristic  of  these 
sketches,  embodies  a  strange  day  dream  of  the  com- 
poser in  which,  as  he  says,  "vision  and  reality  were 
indistinguishably  blended." 

One  bright,  late  autumn  morning  the  little  party 
of  friends  had  taken  advantage  of  the  weather,  and  of 
the  fact  that  Chopin  seemed  in  unusually  good  health 


164  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

and  spirits,  to  make  a  long-talked-of  excursion  to  the 
neighboring  village,  promising  to  return  before  sunset. 
During  their  absence  a  sudden  tropical  tempest  of 
terrific  severity  swept  the  island.  The  wind  blew  a 
hurricane,  the  rain  descended  in  floods,  the  streams 
rose,  bridges  and  roadways  were  destrojed,  and  it  was 
only  with  extreme  difficulty  and  considerable  danger 
that  they  succeeded  in  reaching  the  convent  about 
midnight,  having  spent  six  hours  in  traversing  the  last 
mile  and  a  half  of  the  distance.  They  found  Chopin 
in  a  state  bordering  on  delirium.  The  physical  effect 
of  the  storm  on  his  shattered  nerves,  combined  with 
his  own  depression  and  his  keen  anxiety  for  them,  had 
combined  to  work  his  sensitive,  and  at  that  time 
morbid,  temperament  up  to  a  state  of  feverish  excite- 
ment, in  which  the  normal  barriers  between  percep- 
tion and  hallucination  had  well-nigh  vanished.  He 
told  them  afterward  that  he  had  been  a  prey  to  a  grue- 
some vision  of  which  this  prelude  is  the  musical  por- 
trayal. 

He  fancied  that  he  lay  dead  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea;  that  near  him  sat  a  beautiful  siren  singing  in 
exquisitely  sweet  and  tender  strains,  a  song  of  his  own 
life  and  love  and  sorrow.  But  though  her  voice  was 
soothing  in  its  dreamy  pathos,  and  though  he  felt 
oppressed  by  a  crushing  languor  and  fatigue  and  longed 
for  rest,  he  could  not  lose  consciousness,  because  tor- 
mented by  the  regular,  relentlessly  monotonous  fall 
of  great  drops  upon  his  heart.  As  the  drops  continued 
increasing  steadily  in  weight  and  in  importunate 
demand  upon  his  attention,  as  if  burdened  with  some 
great  and  sad  significance  which  he  must  recognize,  he 


Chopin:  Prelude  (D  Flat  Major)       165 

became  aware  that  they  were  the  tears  of  his  friends 
on  earth  whom  he  had  loved  and  lost.  With  this 
knowledge,  vivid  memory  and  poignant  pain  awoke 
together,  and  his  anguish  grew  to  an  overpowering 
climax  of  intensity.  Then,  nature's  limit  being 
reached,  the  force  of  his  tempest  of  grief  finally  ex- 
hausted itself,  and  he  sank  gradually  into  a  state  of 
dull,  despairing  lethargy,  and  at  last  into  welcome 
unconsciousness,  the  last  sound  in  his  ears  being  the 
soothing  strains  of  the  siren,  and  his  last  sensation  the 
now  faint  and  feeble,  but  still  regular  falling  of  his 
friends'  tears  upon  his  heart. 

This  composition  should  be  conceived  and  executed 
so  as  to  render,  to  the  full,  its  intensely  emotional 
character.  The  first  theme  in  D  flat  major,  with  its 
sweetly  languorous  tone,  should  be  given  quite 
slowly,  with  pressure  touch,  producing  a  penetrating, 
but  not  loud,  singing  quality  of  tone,  while  the  re- 
iterated A  flat  in  the  accompaniment,  which,  through- 
out the  whole  work  suggests  the  falling  drops,  must 
be  at  first  vaguely  hinted  rather  than  distinctly  struck. 
The  middle  part  in  chords  should  be  commenced  very 
softly  with  a  whispering,  mysterious  tone,  afi"ecting 
the  hearer  like  the  first  shadow  of  an  approaching 
thunder  cloud,  or  the  presentiment  of  coming  woe. 
Then  the  power  should  steadily  increase — gradually, 
relentlessly,  like  the  stealthy,  irresistible  rising  of  the 
dark  cold  tide  about  some  chained  victim  in  an  ocean 
cave,  where  the  light  of  day  has  never  penetrated; 
mounting  steadily — not  rapidly — to  the  overwhelming 
climax  of  the  reiterated  octave  B  in  the  right  hand. 

In  the  repetition  of  this  passage  the  same  effect 


1 66  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

should  be  produced,  with  the  climax  still  more  inten- 
sified. Then  let  the  power  as  gradually  decrease,  till 
at  the  return  of  the  siren's  song  it  has  sunk  into  pianis- 
simo and  the  closing  measure  should  fade  away  into 
silence,  like  the  echo  of  dream  bells. 

I  have  dwelt  at  some  length  upon  this  prelude  be- 
cause it  is  the  best  known  of  the  set;  the  most  com- 
plete and,  generally  speaking,  the  most  effective; 
and  because,  in  connection  with  the  suggestive  quota- 
tion from  George  Sand,  it  will  serve  as  a  helpful  illus- 
tration to  the  student  in  arriving  at  an  intelligent 
comprehension  of  the  others.  But  a  few  words  in 
further  elucidation  of  some  of  them  may  be  in  place. 

The  first,  in  somber,  sonorous  chords,  expresses 
Chopin's  initial  impressions  of  the  stately,  but  half- 
ruined  monastery  in  which  he  and  his  little  party  had 
found  refuge,  and  the  solemn  thoughts  called  up  by 
its  decaying  grandeur,  its  silent  loneliness,  its  vast, 
gloomy,   memorj'-haunted  halls  and  cloisters. 

The  third  represents  an  evening  scene,  with  the 
setting  sun  kindling  to  crimson  and  gold  the  spires 
and  picturesque  whitewashed  cottages  of  the  village 
of  Majorca,  a  mile  away  across  the  little  bay,  while  the 
gentle  breeze,  like  the  sigh  of  departing  day,  brings 
the  sound  of  silvery  bells  from  the  little  village  church 
ringing  the  vesper  chimes. 

The  fifth  and  sixth  embody  the  same  mood,  in  an 
almost  identically  similar  setting.  They  may  be 
effectively  combined  into  one  picture  of  a  dark,  de- 
pressing, late  autumnal  day;  a  day  of  gray  skies  and 
leaden  sea;  of  heavy,  windless  calm,  the  calm  of 
exhaustion  and  utter  weariness,   with  the  low,  sad 


Chopin:  Prelude  (D  Flat  Major)       167 

rain  dripping  monotonously  upon  the  roof  like  the  tears 
of  the  gods  for  a  dying  world.  In  one,  the  melody 
expressing  the  element  of  human  sorrow  is  in  the 
soprano,  plaintively,  touchingly,  sweetly  pathetic.  In 
the  other,  it  is  placed  in  the  lower  register  of  Chopin's 
favorite  orchestral  instrument,  the  'cello,  which  it  re- 
produces, throbbing  with  a  more  passionate  intensity, 
a  more  poignant  pain.  But  in  general  character  and 
treatment  the  two  belong  together. 

No.  8  tells  of  the  gay  carol  of  the  birds  at  dawn, 
floating  in  at  the  open  windows  of  Chopin's  chamber. 
No.  17  is  a  rustic  dance  of  the  Majorcan  peasants. 
No.  24,  the  last,  is  a  graphic  description  of  a  tropical 
storm  with  the  flash  of  lightning  and  the  ominous  roll 
of  the  thunder  literally  portrayed. 

Space  does  not  permit  of  a  detailed  analysis  of  all 
the  numbers,  but  each  has  its  special  character  and 
suggestive  import,  and  is  a  pictiu-e  of  some  episodt 
or  mood  during  that  winter's  sojourn  on  Majorca. 


Chopin:    Waltz,  A  Flat,  Op.  42 


VERY  dance,  the  waltz  included,  is 
based  upon  and  adapted  to  some 
particular  dance  movement.  All  its 
^  effects,  whether  of  melody,  harmony, 
^  rhythm,  or  embellishment,  are  Garc- 
ia fully  calculated  by  the  composer  to 
meet  the  requirements  of  this  special 
movement,  to  conform  to  and  ex- 
press its  general  character  and  be  governed  by  its 
usual  rate  of  speed.  Each  of  these  dance  move- 
ments embodies  in  itself  some  peculiar  quality  or 
characteristic,  such  as  stately  grace  in  the  minuet, 
martial  pomp  in  the  polonaise,  impetuous  vivacity 
in  the  galop,  which  the  music  must  indicate  and 
supplement.  The  Chopin  waltzes  are  no  exception 
to  this  rule.  They  are  distinctly  and  preeminently 
waltzes ;  and  though  of  course  not  for  actual  dance  pur- 
poses, they  are  intended  as  idealized  tone-pictures  of 
the  waltz,  and  of  ball-room  scenes  and  experiences. 

The  one  in  question.  Op.  42  in  A  flat,  is  planned 
upon  a  broader  scale,  contains  more  variety,  and  taxes 
more  thoroughly  the  resources  of  the  accomplished 
pianist  than  any  other  work  of  Chopin  in  this  vein. 
Its  tender,  floating  melodies,  bright,  delicate  passage 

168 


Chopin:   Waltz,  A  Flat  169 

work,  and  swinging,  swaying  rhythms  are  replete  with 
all  that  eloquent,  gliding  grace,  that  arch  coquetry, 
that  passionate  warmth  of  mood,  which  we  so  in- 
variably associate  with  the  festive  scenes, 

•'  Where  youth  and  pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet." 

Lights  sparkle,  delicate  draperies  are  afloat,  like  per- 
fumed clouds,  upon  the  languid  air,  bright  eyes  scin- 
tillate with  mirth  or  soften  with  emotion,  and 

"  All  goes  merry  as  a  marriage  bell." 

And  yet  throughout  all  there  runs  a  half -hidden  under- 
tone that  tells  of  deeper,  sterner  thought  and  far  in- 
tenser  feeling;  that  tells  of  dark  forebodings,  of  distant 
alarms,  of  sudden  trumpet  calls ;  so  that  the  work  in  its 
entirety  cannot  but  seem  to  us  the  counterpart  in  music 
of  that  familiar,  almost  hackneyed,  but  immortal  word- 
picture  of  Byron,  describing  the  great  ball  on  the  eve 
ot  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  to  whose  thunderous  music 
the  fate  of  nations  was  reversed,  like  the  steps  of  the 
dancers  in  a  ball-room,  and  France  changed  monarchs 
as  a  lady  shifts  her  partners. 

The  somber  trio  strain,  about  the  middle  of  the  com- 
position, suggests  to  us  'Brunswick's  fated  chieftain," 
who  sat  apart  and  watched  the  dancers  and  listened 
to  the  revelry  with  "Death's  prophetic  ear."  Later, 
where  the  rhythmic  pulsation  of  the  waltz  is  abruptly 
and  violently  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  its  flowing 
cadences,  by  a  strong  emphasized  G  natural  F,  repeated 
twice  by  both  hands  in  tmison,  we  are  forcibly  re- 
minded of  the  line — 

"  But  hush  !  hark  I  a  deep  sound  strikes  like  a  rising  knell  I  " 


70  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

After  a  moment  of  consternation  and  suspense,  the 
waltz  movement  proceeds,  appearing  almost  flippant 
by  contrast,  and  seeming  to  say,  like  the  verse  which 
follows, 

"  On  with  the  dance,  let  joy  be  nnconfined ! " 

Lastly,  the  breathless,  impetuous  finale  indicates  the 
"hurrying  to  and  fro,"  the  "mounting  in  hot  haste," 
and  "marshalling  in  arms,"  with  which  the  dance 
broke  up  at  midnight,  as  cavaliers  rushed  from  the  ball- 
room to  the  battlefield.  Both  Chopin,  the  greatest 
musician  of  Poland,  and  Mickiewicz,  her  greatest  poet, 
were  powerfully  impressed  by  the  personality  and 
poetry  of  Lord  Byron,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  our 
composer  had  the  stanzas  of  the  contemporaneous 
English  writer  in  mind  in  the  creation  of  this  v/ork. 

The  first  duty  of  the  performer  in  rendering  this 
composition  should  be  to  suggest  irresistibly  to  the 
listeners  both  the  mood  and  movement  of  the  waltz, 
and  to  force  them  to  feel,  as  far  as  may  be,  the  elastic 
swing  of  the  rhythm  and  the  warm,  voluptuous  mood 
of  the  music.  The  tone  quality  employed  should  con- 
stantly change  to  suit  the  contrasting  colors  of  the 
dififerent  strains;  now  warmly  lyric,  now  sparkling 
and  vibrant,  at  times  deeply  somber,  and  again  strik- 
ingly dramatic  and  declamatory. 

As  to  tempo,  I  would  caution  the  player  against  an 
extreme  rate  of  speed.  Remember  that  the  usual 
waltz  step  is,  approximately  at  least,  our  guide  in 
choosing  the  proper  movement.  I  am  aware  that 
many  pianists,  of  the  greatest  skill  and  reputation,  are 
guilty  of  the  cardinal  error  of  playing  one  of  these 


Chopin:    Waltz,  A  Flat  171 

beautiful  poetic  little  compositions  of  Chopin's  at 
prestissimo  tempo,  so  as  to  display  their  phenomenal 
finger  dexterity  at  the  expense  of  all  musical  and 
artistic  truth;  so  fast,  indeed,  that  even  if  the  notes 
were  all  struck  with  accuracy,  which  is  by  no  means 
always  the  case,  its  graceful  rhythmic  swing  and  all 
its  melodic  and  harmonic  effects  are  utterly  lost, 
leaving  nothing  but  an  incoherent,  formless,  purposeless 
whirlwind  of  tone,  as  dry  and  unlovely  as  the  eddies  of 
dust  in  a  September  gale,  suggesting  neither  the  mood 
nor  movement  of  a  waltz. 


Chopin's  Nocturnes 


N  derivation  and  general  significance 
the  term  nocturne  coincides  with 
our  English  word  nocturnal.  It  is 
music  appertaining  to  the  night,  a 
night  piece,  suited  to  and  express- 
ing its  usually  quiet,  dreamful,  pen- 
sive mood,  and  frequently  portray- 
ing some  nocturnal  scene  or  episode. 
The  name  nocturne  was  originally  used  as  synonymous 
with  that  of  serenade,  and  they  were  virtually  iden- 
tical in  character.  But  in  later  times  it  has  come  to 
have  a  much  broader  application,  and  to-day,  though 
every  serenade  is  of  course  a  nocturne,  all  nocturnes 
are  by  no  means  serenades. 

The  serenade  is  a  real  or  imaginary  song  of  love, 
and  presupposes  a  fair  listener  at  a  lattice  window  and 
a  lover  singing  beneath  the  stars,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  harp,  mandolin,  or  guitar.  The  nocturne 
may  legitimately  embody  any  phase  of  human  emotion 
or  experience,  or  any  aspect  of  inanimate  nature, 
which  can  rationally  be  conceived  of  as  appropriately 
emanating  from  or  environed  by  nocturnal  conditions. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  this  vein  of  composi- 
tion was  Chopin's  only  or  even  his  most  important 

172 


Chopin's   Nocturnes  173 

field  of  activity.  To  judge  him  exclusively  by  his 
nocturnes  and  waltzes  is  precisely  like  judging  Shake- 
speare solely  by  his  sonnets.  But  it  was  a  vein  in  which, 
owing  to  his  peculiarly  poetic  temperament  and  fertile 
imagination,  he  far  excelled  all  other  writers,  no  less  in 
the  quality  than  in  the  number  and  variety  of  his 
creations. 


Chopin!  Nocturne  in  E  Flat,  Op.  9, 
No.  2 


HIS  perhaps  is  the  easiest  and  cer- 
tainly the  best  known  of  Chopin's 
nocturnes.  Scarcely  a  student  but 
has  played  it  at  one  time  or  another. 
In  fact,  it  has  been  worn  well-nigh 
to  shreds ;  yet  still  retains  its  simple, 
tender  charm,  if  approached  in  the 
proper  spirit.  It  is  replete  with 
melodic  beauty  and  warm  harmonic  coloring,  and 
is  an  excellent  study  in  tone-production  and  shading, 
as  well  as  a  model  of  symmetrical  form.  It  was 
one  of  his  early  works,  and  the  glow  of  first  youth 
still  lingers  about  it,  in  spite  of  its  over-familiar- 
ity and  much  abuse.  As  a  teaching-piece  it  some- 
times surprises  the  weary  teacher  with  a  waft  of  un- 
expected freshness,  like  the  fleeting  odor  from  an  old 
and  much-used  school-book  in  which  violets  have  been 
pressed. 

It  is  a  pm-e  lyric,  a  love-song  without  words,  but  to 
which  a  dreamily  tender  poetic  text  can  easily  be 
imagined  and  supplied;  and  the  very  evident  sugges- 
tion of  the  harp  or  guitar  in  its  accompanying  chords 
facilitates  the  effort  and  brightens  the  poetic  effect. 

174 


Chopin:  Nocturne  in  E  Flat  175 

So  far  as  I  can  learn,  it  has  no  definite  local  back- 
ground, either  in  fact  or  tradition;  no  special  place  or 
persons  to  which  it  refers.  It  is  an  abstract  idea 
treated  subjectively,  the  embodied  emotional  reflex 
of  imaginary  conditions.  The  scene  is  a  garden — any 
garden,  so  it  be  beautiful,  rich  with  the  vivid  luxuri- 
ance of  the  South,  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  sleeping 
flowers,  with  the  South  summer-night  hanging  fondly 
over  it,  and  the  summer  stars  glittering  above.  The 
melody  is  the  song  of  the  ideal  troubadour,  pouring 
out  his  heart  to  the  night  and  his  listening  lady,  while 
the  accompanying  chords  are  lightly  swept  from 
vibrant  strings  by  the  practised  fingers  of  the  minstrel. 
The  cadenza  at  the  close  is  intended  as  a  mere  delicate 
ripple  of  liquid  brilliancy,  as  if  the  moon,  suddenly 
breaking  through  a  veil  of  evening  mist,  had  flooded 
the  scene  with  a  rain  of  silvery  radiance. 


Chopin:    Nocturne,  Op.  27,  No.  2 


HIS  nocturne,  though  one  of  Chopin's 
most  intrinsically  beautiful  compo- 
sitions for  the  piano,  is  even  more 
frequently  heard  upon  the  violin. 
It  has  been,  for  decades,  a  favorite 
lyric  number  with  all  the  leading 
violinists  of  the  world,  and  adapts 
itself  admirably  to  the  resources  and 
peculiar  character  of  this  instrument. 

For  this  there  is  an  excellent  reason,  far  other  than 
mere  chance.  On  a  certain  evening  in  the  early  thirties 
were  assembled  in  an  elegant  Parisian  salon  a  com- 
pany of  the  musical  and  literary  ilite  of  the  French 
capital,  to  meet  several  foreign  celebrities  and  enjoy 
one  of  those  rare  opportunities  for  intellectual  and 
artistic  converse  and  companionship,  of  which  we  read 
with  envious  longing,  but  which  are  practically  un- 
known in  our  busy,  prosaic  age. 

There  were  present  Chopin,  Liszt,  Mendelssohn, 
the  latter  then  in  Paris  on  a  brief  visit,  besides  many 
local  musicians  of  note,  including  some  of  the  pro- 
fessors of  the  Conservatoire,  also  George  Sand,  Heinrich 
Heine,  Alfred  De  Musset,  with  some  lesser  literary 
lights,  and  a  brilliant  gathering  of  social  leaders.     It 

176 


Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  27,  No.  a     177 

was  an  evening  long  to  be  remembered  for  the  spark- 
ling wit  and  repartee,  flashed  back  and  forth  from 
these  brilliant  intellects,  like  the  rays  of  light  from  the 
glittering  jewels  of  the  ladies,  for  the  occasional  bursts 
of  glowing  eloquence  and  poetic  thought  from  the 
profounder  minds,  and  especially  for  the  music,  which 
was  plentiful  and  of  the  best. 

It  may  have  been  on  this  very  occasion  that  Rossini 
made  his  famous,  but  most  unfriendly,  hit  at  the 
expense  of  Liszt's  marvelous  powers  of  improvisation, 
which  he,  Rossini,  was  inclined  seemingly  to  doubt. 
Liszt  was  being  pressed  to  play  and  to  improvise,  and 
Rossini  called  out  across  the  room:  "Yes,  my  friend, 
do  improvise  that  beautiful  thing  that  you  impro- 
vised at  Madam 's  last  Friday,  and  at  Lord  So 

and  So's  the  week  before." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  a  local  violinist  of 
prominence  played  for  the  company  a  new  composition 
of  his  own,  a  sweet,  long-sustained  cantilena,  with  a 
more  involved  second  movement  in  double  stopping. 
When  he  had  finished  and  the  applause  had  subsided, 
one  of  the  ladies  was  heard  to  remark,  "What  a  pity 
that  the  piano  is  incapable  of  these  effects !  Ft  is  bril- 
liant, dramatic,  resourceful,  what  you  will;  but  only 
the  violin  can  stir  the  heart  in  that  way." 

Chopin  rose,  bowing  with  one  of  his  equivocal 
smiles,  half-sad,  half-playfuUy  mocking,  stepped  to 
the  piano  and  improvised  this  nocturne,  a  perfect 
reproduction  of  all  the  best  violin  effects,  cantilena 
and  all,  including  the  double-stopping  in  the  second 
theme,  with  a  certain  warmth  and  poetry  added, 
which  were  all  his  own.  Of  course,  it  was  afterward 
la 


178  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

finished  and  perfected  in  detail,  but  in  substance  it 
was  the  same  as  the  D  flat  nocturne  which  we  all 
know  so  well  and  which  the  violinists,  though  most  of 
them  unconscious  of  the  reason,  have  singled  out  as 
specially  adapted  to  their  instrument. 

The  player  should  keep  the  violin  and  its  effects  in 
mind  in  rendering  it,  the  lingering,  songful,  string 
Quality  of  tone  in  the  melody,  the  smooth  legato,  the 
.eisurely,  well-rounded  embellishments ;  and  the  tempo 
should  never  be  hurried.  It  may  be  well  to  say,  in 
this  connection,  that  in  these  Chopin  nocturnes,  and  in 
all  other  lyric  compositions,  the  embellishments,  grace- 
notes,  and  the  like  should  be  made  to  conform  to  the 
general  mood  and  character  of  the  rest  of  the  music. 
Symmetry  and  fitting  proportions  are  among  the 
primal  laws  of  all  art. 

In  a  Liszt  rhapsody,  a  cadenza  should  flash  like  a 
rocket,  but  in  a  Chopin  nocturne  it  should  glide  with 
easy,  undulating  grace,  should  float  like  a  wind-blown 
ribbon,  a  fallen  rose-leaf.  Too  often  we  hear  the 
ornamental  passages  in  a  lyric  played  as  if  they  were 
wholly  irrelevant  matter,  dropped  in  there  by  accident 
out  of  some  other  entirely  different  compositions, — 
a  bit  of  vain,  noisy  display  in  the  midst  of  a  poetic 
dream,  breaking  instead  of  enhancing  its  charm, 
utterly  incongruous.  Harmonize  the  embellishments 
with  the  subject!    Fit  the  trimming  to  the  fabric! 


Chopin:    Nocturne,  Op.  32,  No.  1 


|LTHOUGH  technically  easy  and 
thoroughly  musical,  this  little  work 
is  strangely  enough  but  little  played. 
It  is  technically  no  harder  than  the 
Op.  9  referred  to,  though  it  re- 
quires more  intensity  and  stronger 
contrasts  in  its  treatment. 

It  is  singular  that  a  comparatively 
simple  composition,  of  such  intrinsic  merit,  by  one  of 
the  great  composers,  comprising,  as  it  does,  so  many 
attractive  elements  in  such  small  compass,  should  be  so 
little  used.  Possibly,  to  those  not  acquainted  with  its 
subject,  the  closing  chords,  with  their  sharp,  almost 
painful  contrast,  and  utter  dissimilarity  to  the  pre- 
ceding movement,  have  seemed  incongruous  and  un- 
intelligible ;  but,  when  the  theme  and  purpose  of  the 
whole  are  understood,  it  is  seen  in  what  a  masterly 
manner,  and  with  what  simple  material,  Chopin  has 
produced  the  most  striking  dramatic  results. 

The  subject  of  this  nocturne  is  the  same  as  that  of 
Robert  Browning's  later  poem,  "In  a  Gondola";  an 
episode  to  be  found  in  the  annals  of  Venice,  when,  at 
the  height  of  her  pride  and  power,  she  was  nominally 
a  republic,  but  from  the  large  legislative  body  elected 

179 


i8o  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

exclusively  from  among  the  nobility,  an  inner,  higher 
circle  of  forty  was  chosen,  and  they,  in  turn,  selected 
from  their  number,  by  secret  ballot,  the  mysterious, 
potent  Council  of  Ten,  gruesomely  famous  in  history, 
who  wielded  the  real  power  of  the  State,  often  for 
the  darkest  personal  ends,  the  Doge  being  little  more 
than  a  figm-e-head.  Highest  and  most  dreaded  of  all 
was  the  Council  of  Three,  chosen  from  their  own 
number  by  the  Ten,  by  an  ingenious  system  of  secret 
ballot  so  perfect  that  only  those  selected  knew  on 
whom  the  choice  had  fallen,  and  they  did  not  know 
each  other's  identity.  They  met  at  night,  in  a  secret 
chamber,  in  which  the  three  tables  and  three  chairs, 
and  even  the  blocks  of  marble  in  the  pavement  of  the 
floor  were  symbolically  triangular.  They  entered  at 
the  fixed  hour,  by  three  separate  doors,  disguised  in 
black  masks  and  long  black  cloaks,  conferred  in 
whispers  only,  and  their  decrees,  like  those  of  the 
Greek  Fates,  were  inexorable  and  inevitable.  Veiled 
and  shielded  by  mystery,  they  worked  their  awful 
will,  from  which  there  was  no  escape  and  no  appeal. 

The  story  runs  that  once  a  beautiful  and  high- 
spirited  heiress,  the  daughter  of  a  former  Doge,  and 
the  special  ward  of  the  Council  of  Three,  as  the  dis- 
posal of  her  hand  and  fortune  was  an  important 
State  matter,  had  the  courage  to  brave  their  pro- 
hibition and  secretly  to  welcome  the  suit  and  return 
the  love  of  a  young,  gallant,  but  fortuneless  knight, 
who  risked  his  life  to  obtain  their  brief,  stolen  in- 
terviews, or  to  breathe  his  love  in  subdued  but  heart- 
stirring  melody  beneath  her  window.  One  night, 
when  a  great  ball  at  the  palace  seemed  to  afford  an 


Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  32,  No.   i      181 

opportunity  for  her  to  escape  unnoticed,  he  came  dis- 
guised as  a  gondolier,  and  for  a  few  sweet  moments 
they  were  alone  together  upon  the  moonlit  water. 

The  first  theme  of  this  nocturne  suggests  the  scene 
in  the  gondola,  with  its  softly  swaying  motion  as  it 
feels  the  faint  swell  of  the  great  sea's  distant  heart- 
throb, while  the  melodic  phrases  embody  the  tender 
mood  of  the  lovers  as  if  in  a  sweet,  low  song.  Brown- 
ing expresses  the  mood  in  his  opening  lines: 

"  I  send  my  heart  up  to  thee,  all  my  heart, 

In  this  my  singing  ; 
For  the  stars  help  me  and  the  sea  bears  part ; 

The  very  night  is  clinging 
Closer  to  Venice's  streets  to  leave  one  space 

Above  me,  whence  thy  face 
May  light  my  joyous  heart  to  thee,  its  dwelling-place." 

The  second  theme  is  somewhat  more  intense, 
though  still  subdued.  It  tells  of  greater  passion  and 
also  of  deeper  sadness,  with  an  occasional  passing 
thrill  of  suppressed  terror.     Browning  sings  it: 

♦*  O  which  were  best,  to  roam  or  rest  ? 
The  land's  lap  or  the  water's  breast? 
To  sleep  on  yellow  millet  sheaves, 
Or  swim  in  lucid  shadows,  just 
Eluding  water-lily  leaves. 
An  inch  from  Death's  black  fingers,  thrust 
To  lock  you,  whom  release  he  must ; 
Which  life  were  best  on  summer  eves  ?  " 

To  which  the  lady  answers: 

"Dip  your  arm  o'er  the  boat- side,  elbow  deep. 
As  I  do ;  thus ;  were  death  so  unlike  sleep, 
Caught  this  way  ?     Death's  to  fear  from  flame  or  steel. 
Or  poison,  doubtless  ;  but  from  water — feel !  " 


1 82  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

The  last  measures  of  the  lyric  melody,  full  of  linger- 
ing sweetness,  are  like  the  parting  kiss.  Then  suddenly, 
brutally,  with  the  G  major  chord  against  the  crashing 
F's  in  the  bass,  the  voice  of  fate  breaks  the  tender 
spell.  Death  enters  with  swift,  heart-crushing  tread, 
and  his  icy  hand  snatches  his  victim  from  the  very 
arms  of  love;  and  the  closing  chords,  brief,  but  im- 
pressive, voice  the  shock,  the  cry  of  anguish,  and  the 
swift  sinking  into  black  despair,  which  were  the  lady's 
more  bitter  share  in  the  tragedy.  For  too  soon  the 
time  had  passed.  Their  brief  happiness  had  been 
saddened  and  softened  to  deeper,  graver  tenderness 
by  the  knowledge  of  impending  danger,  by  the  ever- 
recurrent  cloud  like  the  passing  thought  that  Brown- 
ing voices  in  the  line: 

••  What  if  the  Three  should  catch  at  last  thy  serenader?  " 

They  must  return  or  be  detected.  Reluctantly  he 
guides  the  boat  back  to  the  landing,  and  just  in  the 
moment  of  their  farewell  he  is  surprised,  overpowered, 
and  stabbed  to  death  by  waiting  assassins,  dying  in 
her  arms. 

The  closing  of  the  nocturne  as  just  described  is, 
to  my  thinking,  more  dramatic,  more  realistic,  and 
far  stronger  than  the  last  lines  of  Browning's  poem : 

•'  It  was  ordained  to  be  so,  sweet !  and  best 
Comes  now,  beneath  thine  eyes,  upon  thy  breast. 
Still  kiss  me  !     Care  not  for  the  cowards !     Care 
Only  to  put  aside  thy  beauteous  hair 
My  blood  will  hurt !     The  Three  I  do  not  scorn 
To  death,  because  they  never  lived  ;  but  I 
Have  lived,  indeed,  and  so  (yet  one  more  kiss)  can  die." 


Chopin:    Nocturne,  Op.  37,  No.  i 


PUS  37,  No.  I,  in  G  minor,  was  written 
during  Chopin's  winter  sojourn  on 
the  island  of  Majorca  already  de- 
scribed. On  this  occasion  also  the 
composer  had  been  left  alone  to  oc- 
cupy himself  with  his  piano,  while 
his  more  active  friends  went  for  a 
sail  on  the  bay.  The  sun  had  disap- 
peared behind  a  western  bank  of  cloud.  The  evening 
shadows  were  fast  closing  around  him,  filling  with  gloom 
and  mystery  the  distant  recesses  of  the  vast,  irregular 
apartment  where  he  sat,  and  the  columned  cloister  be- 
yond, which  led  from  the  ruined  refectorj'  of  the  monas- 
ter)' to  the  chapel  where  the  priests  and  abbots  of  ten 
centuries  lay  entombed.  The  ruins  of  a  dead  past  were 
on  every  side.  The  silent  presence  of  Death  seemed  all 
about  him.  He  felt  that,  like  the  day,  his  life  was 
swiftly  declining,  and  the  mood  of  the  place  and  the  hour 
was  strong  upon  him.  It  found  utterance  in  the  sorrow- 
fully beautiful,  passionately  pathetic  first  melody  of  this 
nocturne,  with  its  falling  minor  phrases,  like  the  cry 
of  a  deep  but  suppressed  despair,  and  its  somber,  sob- 
bing accompaniment,  like  the  muffled  moan  of  the 
surf  on  the  adjacent  beach.     A  precisely  similar  mood 

183 


184  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

is  powerfully  expressed  in  Tennyson's  poem  "Break, 
break,  break,"  especially  in  the  closing  lines, 

*♦  But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 
Will  never  come  back  to  me." 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  his  melancholy  reveries, 
Chopin  was  seized  by  one  of  those  deceptive  visions, 
so  frequent  at  that  time.  The  shadowy  forms  of  a 
procession  of  dead  monks  seemed  to  emerge  from 
beneath  the  obscure  arches  of  the  refectory,  in  a  slow 
funeral  march  along  the  cloister  behind  him  to  the 
chapel,  where  their  evening  services  were  formerly 
held,  solemnly  chanting  as  they  passed  their  Santo 
Dio.  This  impressive  chant,  as  if  sung  by  a  chorus  of 
subdued  male  voices,  is  realistically  reproduced  in  the 
middle  movement  of  the  nocturne.  The  very  words 
Santo  Dio  are  distinctly  suggested  by  each  little  phrase 
of  four  consecutive  chords. 

When  the  monks  have  vanished,  and  their  voices 
have  died  away  in  the  distance  beneath  the  echoing 
vault  of  the  chapel,  Chopin  recovers  himself  with  a 
shudder  and  resumes  his  sad  dreaming,  symbolized  by 
a  return  of  the  first  melody.  But  just  at  its  close  the 
sun  sinks  below  the  western  bank,  its  last  rays  gleaox 
for  a  moment  on  the  white  sail  of  the  boat  just  round 
ing  up  to  the  landing.  His  friends  return.  His  lonel) 
brooding  is  cheerfully  interrupted.  His  mood  brighten* 
and  the  nocturne  ends  with  an  exquisite  transition  to 
the  major  key. 

The  player  should  strive  in  this  work  for  a  somber 
intensity  of  tone,  and  should  render  each  phrase  of 
the  melody  as  if  the  pain  expressed  were  his  own. 


Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  37,  No.  i      185 

making  the  undertone  of  the  sobbing  sea  distinctly 
apparent  in  the  accompanying  chords.  In  the  middle 
movement,  where  the  monks'  chant  is  introduced, 
the  imitation  of  a  muffled  chorus  of  male  voices  should 
be  made  deceptively  realistic.  All  the  notes  of  each 
chord  must  be  pressed,  not  struck,  with  a  firm  but 
elastic  touch,  and  exactly  simultaneously;  and  each 
little  quadruplet  of  chords  must  rise  and  fall  in  power, 
so  accented  as  to  enunciate  the  words  Santo  Dio.  This 
is  at  once  the  saddest,  the  deepest,  and  the  most  de- 
scriptive, while  technically  the  easiest,  of  all  the 
Chopin  nocturnes. 


Chopin:    Nocturne,  Op.  37,  No.  2 


RACEFUL,  tender,  and  cheerful  is  the 
general  tone  of  the  Nocturne  in 
G  major.  It  was  written  the  follow- 
ing summer  after  Chopin's  return  to 
France,  during  a  visit  of  some  weeks 
at  Nohant,  the  beautiful  country 
seat  of  George  Sand,  where  in  the 
midst  of  a  smiling  rural  landscape, 
bright  and  winning,  rather  than  awe-inspiring,  breath- 
ing the  mild  but  invigorating  air  of  his  beloved  France, 
surroimded  by  cheerful  and  congenial  companions  and 
by  every  possible  physical  comfort,  our  composer's 
health  and  spirits  temporarily  revived.  To  this  epoch, 
brief  as  it  was,  we  owe  some  of  his  most  genial  and 
attractive  compositions. 

Again  it  is  evening  and  Chopin  is  alone,  but  this  time 
it  is  in  his  own  familiar,  cozy  room,  where  the  perfect 
appointments  and  tasteful  arrangement  tell  of  loving 
feminine  hands,  glad  to  minister  to  every  fancy  of  his 
delicately  fastidious  nature.  The  scent  of  flowers 
floats  in  through  the  open  window,  and  mingled  with 
it  the  low  voices  of  friends  in  the  garden  below.  He 
watches  the  play  of  lights  and  shadows  among  the 
swaying  branches  of  a  tall,  graceful  willow  tree  just 

186 


Chopin:  Nocturne,  Op.  37,  No.  2     187 

outside  his  casement,  the  vaguely  outlined,  fleecy, 
floating  gray  clouds,  ghosts  of  dead  storms,  silently 
passing  on  into  the  infinite  unknown  spaces  of  the  sky. 
He  listens  to  the  night  wind  sighing  among  the  tree- 
tops,  to  the  good-nights  of  sleepy  birds,  to  the  vesper 
bell  of  a  distant  village,  and  embodies  his  dreamy 
impressions  in  the  first  movement  of  this  nocturne, 
with  its  wavering,  undulating  murmurous  effects,  and 
its  faint,  intermittent  melodic  suggestions,  like  the 
half-remembered  music  of  a  dream. 

The  second  movement,  twice  alternating  with  the 
first,  though  in  different  keys,  is  distinctly  a  slumber 
song  in  rhythm  and  mood,  a  restful,  gentle,  soothing 
lullaby  to  the  composer's  own  weary  heart,  to  his 
momentarily  slumbering  griefs,  and  forebodings ;  peace- 
ful, tender,  pensively  sad  at  times,  but  entirely  free 
from  that  ultra-bitterness  and  gloom  which  color  most 
of  his  later  works.  His  Polish  biographer  calls  this 
the  most  beautiful  melody  Chopin  ever  wrote,  and  it 
reminds  us  strongly  of  Tennyson's  lines  in  the  same 
mood: 

"  There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass. 
Or  night-dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 
Of  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass  ; 
Music  that  gentler  on  the  spirit  lies 
Than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes." 

An  extremely  light  but  fluent  legato  touch,  and  an 
ethereal  delicacy  and  grace  of  conception  are  demanded 
for  the  first  movement,  and  the  ever-present  curve  of 
beauty  should  be  indicated  in  each  little  passage  of 
three  measures.     Let  the  player  imagine  a  brightly 


1 88  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

tinted  feather  ball,   tossed  lightly   into   the  air  and 
fluttering  softly  and  slowly  to  earth  again. 

For  the  second  movement,  a  singing  lyric  tone,  a 
subdued  warmth  of  color,  and  a  steady,  reposeful, 
rocking  rhythm  are  a  necessity,  and  the  lullaby  mood 
should  be  kept  in  mind. 


ISII 


use 


Chopin's  Polish  Songs,  Transcribed 
for  Piano  by  Liszt 


IX  of  these  songs,  transcribed  for 
piano,  with  all  Liszt's  wonted  skill, 
render  this  charming  vein  of  Cho- 
pin's work  available  to  the  pianist. 
I  cite  two  as  illustrations: 

These  Polish  songs  by  Chopin  are, 
comparatively  speaking,  unknown, 
even  among  musicians,  overshad- 
owed and  hidden  as  they  have  always  been  by 
the  number  and  magnitude  of  his  pianoforte  works, 
like  wood-violets  lost  in  the  depths  of  a  forest.  Yet, 
though  small  and  unpretentious  as  the  violets,  they 
are  among  his  most  genial  and  poetic  creations.  Sev- 
enteen of  them  have  been  published,  as  genuine  bits 
of  vocal  melody  as  ever  were  penned  or  sung ;  and  there 
are  many  more  which  have  never  been  printed,  scarcely 
even  written  out  in  full;  hasty  pastime  sketches,  the 
fair  daughters  of  a  momentary  inspiration,  wedded  to 
stray  verses  of  Polish  poetry  which  caught  Chopin's 
fancy,  from  the  pen  of  Mickiewicz  and  other  national 
bards. 

191 


192   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

The  Maiden's  Wish 

"The  Maiden's  Wish,"  the  first  of  the  two  songs 
presented,  is  one  of  the  earliest  and  most  popular,  so 
far  as  known ;  a  dainty,  capricious  little  mazurka  song, 
half  playful,  half  tender.  The  words  embody  the  fond 
wish  of  a  merry,  winsome  maiden,  whose  life  is  touched 
to  seriousness  by  the  shadow  of  first  love  upon  her 
pathway,  the  wish  that  she  were  a  sunbeam  to  leave 
the  high  vault  of  Heaven  and  desert  the  flowers  and 
streams  of  earth  to  shine  through  her  lover's  window 
and  gladden  him  alone;  or  that  she  were  a  bird  to 
leave  the  fields  and  forests  and  fly  on  swift  pinions  to 
his  window  at  early  dawn  and  wake  him  with  a  song 
of  love. 

The  music  accurately  and  closely  reproduces  the 
spirit  of  the  words,  in  all  their  warmth,  archness,  and 
grace.  The  short  but  continually  recurring  trill, 
"ever  on  the  self-same  note,"  in  prelude  and  interlude, 
suggests  the  thrill  which  the  maiden  feels  at  heart  as 
she  flits  singing  about  the  house  and  garden,  uncon- 
sciously keeping  step  to  the  rhythm  of  the  mazurka, 
the  native  dance  of  her  province. 

The  Ring 
The  second  song  selected  resembles  in  form  the 
ordinary  folk-song,  with  its  single,  reiterated  musical 
strophe,  and  also  in  its  simplicity,  its  fresh,  unaffected 
sincerity  of  mood.  But  it  shows  far  more  perfect 
workmanship,  and  is  of  a  much  more  refined  and 
poetic  quality.     It  is  plaintively  sad,  tenderly  pathetic 


Chopin's  Polish  Songs:  Liszt  193 

in  every  phrase,  a  pale,  delicate  blossom  of  sentiment, 
dropped  upon  the  grave  of  youth  and  first  love.  It 
describes  the  early  betrothal  of  a  youth,  full  of  faith, 
hope,  and  happiness,  to  his  playmate  and  child-love. 
On  departing  into  strange  lands,  the  youth  gives  the 
maiden  a  ring  and  she  gives  him  in  exchange  a  promise 
to  become  his  bride  on  his  return.  After  years  of 
weary  wandering,  during  which  his  heart  has  been  ever 
faithful  to  his  early  love,  he  returns  to  find  she  has 
forgotten  ring  and  promise  and  lover.  But  in  spite 
of  her  perfidy  and  the  hopelessness  of  his  attachment, 
his  constant  thoughts  cling  ever  to  the  little  ring  he 
gave  and  the  little  playmate  with  her  childish  grace 
and  garb.  A  very  old  story  and  a  very  simple  one, 
but  none  the  less  sad  for  that. 

In  addition  to  its  intrinsic  charm  and  artistic  merit 
this  little  composition  possesses  a  personal  interest  in 
its  subtle  reference  to  Chopin's  own  experience.  The 
great  tone-poet  knew  a  love  other  and  earlier  than  that 
destructive  passion  for  George  Sand  which  blasted  his 
life  and  broke  his  heart.  But  his  beloved  Constantia, 
to  whom  he  was  betrothed  before  leaving  Poland,  at 
twenty  years  of  age,  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  great 
world,  forgot  her  plighted  vows  and  the  little  ring  he 
gave  as  their  visible  token,  and  married  another;  and 
it  is  the  composer's  own  grieved  and  disappointed 
heart  that  speaks  in  this  tenderly  beautiful  song,  sad- 
dened by  the  first  of  the  many  swiftly  gathering 
clouds  which  obscured  the  brightness  of  his  sunny 
youth,  and  in  a  few  short  years  rendered  the  name  of 
Chopin  synonymous  to  his  friends  with  grief  and 
suffering. 
13 


The  Poetic  and  Religious  Harmo- 
nies by  Franz  Liszt 


ISZT'S  reputation  in  this  country  as 
a  pianoforte  composer  has  hitherto 
rested,  in  the  main,   upon  his  bril- 
liant and  popular  operatic  fantasies, 
a  few  of  his  etudes,  and  his  unique 
and  world-famous  Hungarian  rhap- 
sodies ;  all  of  which,  though  effective 
and  by  no  means  to  be  despised,  are, 
after  all,  only  the  bright  bubbles  tossed  off  in  playful 
mood  from  the  surface  of  his  genius,  like  the  globules 
that  rise  from  the  sparkling  champagne. 

That  there  is  a  deeper,  more  serious,  and  far  more 
important  vein  of  strictly  original  work  of  his,  which 
has  as  yet  scarcely  been  discovered,  still  less  exploited, 
few  persons,  even  among  the  musicians  themselves, 
seem  to  be  aware.  Of  course,  in  the  large  cities,  his 
orchestral  works — that  is  to  say,  some  of  them — have 
been  occasionally  given  and  his  concertos  have  be- 
come fairly  well  known;  but  elsewhere  he  is  chiefly 
known  as  the  leading  manufacturer  of  musical  pyro- 
technics, the  inventor  of  the  best  pianistic  sky-rockets 
and  the  best  articles  in  tonal  thunder  and  lightning 
thus  far  put  upon  the  world's  market.     But  the  fact 

194 


Liszt:  Poetic  and  Religious  Harmonies  195 

is  that  his  future  fame  as  a  creative  musician  is  des- 
tined to  stand  upon  a  much  firmer  and  more  lasting 
basis — namely,  that  of  the  original  work  referred  to; 
and  I  believe  in  a  much  higher  niche  in  the  temple  of 
art  than  it  at  present  occupies. 

Among  these  original  works,  and  forming  an  im- 
portant and  distinct  division  of  them,  peculiar  to 
itself  both  in  form  and  subject  matter,  the  "Poetic 
and  Religious  Harmonies"  claim  our  attention.  These 
were  written  under  rather  singular  circumstances. 

All  through  his  life,  from  early  boyhood,  Liszt  was 
subject  to  occasional  moods  of  intense  religious  fervor, 
— devotional  paroxysms,  one  might  almost  call  them, 
— sweeping  over  him  like  a  tidal  wave,  submerging, 
for  the  time,  all  other  thoughts  and  impulses,  and 
then  receding,  to  leave  him  about  where  they  found 
him.  Their  transitory  and  spasmodic  nature  has  led 
many  to  believe  that  they  were  not  real,  but  assumed, 
simulated  hypocritically  for  effect,  or  for  a  purpose; 
as,  for  example,  to  escape  the  importunate  claims  of 
his  several  mistresses. 

But  those  who  knew  him  best  are  inclined  to  make 
allowance  for  his  impulsive,  erratic,  unbalanced  tem- 
perament, his  undeveloped  oriental  nature,  half  bar- 
baric in  spite  of  its  immense  and  manifold  powers, 
and  to  concede  that,  while  they  lasted,  they  were  very 
genuine  and  very  profound.  Under  this  impelling 
force  he  was  several  times  on  the  point  of  giving  up  his 
worldly  career  and  devoting  himself  to  a  monastic  life, 
and  was  only  restrained  by  the  efforts  of  his  many 
friends  and  admirers. 

In  1856  came  the  last  and  most  enduring  of  these 


196  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

impulses,  and,  in  obedience  to  it,  he  abandoned  his 
life  as  a  concert  artist,  which,  for  phenomenal  suc- 
cess, has  never  had  a  parallel  before  or  since,  retired 
into  rigorous  seclusion  in  the  Vatican  at  Rome,  where 
he  was  the  guest  and  pupil  of  the  Pope  himself,  and 
devoted  nearly  five  consecutive  years  to  religious  study 
and  contemplation,  receiving  the  title  of  Abb^  in  the 
Catholic  Church,  which  he  retained  till  his  death, 
and  ^vriting  a  considerable  number  of  compositions, 
all  of  a  distinctively  religious  character,  all  based  upon 
religious  themes,  either  incidents  narrated  in  the 
Scriptures,  or  in  the  lives  of  the  saints,  or  subjective 
experiences  connected  with  his  own  spiritual  life  and 
development. 

Among  these,  his  great  "Legend  of  St.  Elizabeth"  is 
preeminent,  and  this  series  of  nine  poetic  and  religious 
harmonies;  each  a  complete  composition,  having  no 
connection  with  the  others  except  in  its  general  char- 
acter, bearing  a  special  title  indicating  its  nature  and 
subject.  Some  of  them  are  of  very  great  musical 
worth  and  importance,  and  are  among  his  best  pro- 
ductions, notably,  the  No.  3,  Book  2,  entitled  "The 
Benediction  of  God  in  the  Solitude."  It  is  one  of  the 
subjective,  emotional  compositions  referred  to,  giving 
us  a  glimpse  into  the  heart  life  of  the  composer  during 
this  epoch  of  profound  and  intense  religious  experi- 
ence. 

It  opens  with  a  subdued  but  strongly  emotional, 
'cello-like  theme  in  the  left  hand,  expressing  the  first 
discontent  and  vague  longings  of  a  soul  whose  best 
aspirations  and  highest  needs  have  found  no  real 
satisfaction  in  worldly  things,  yet  which  has  no  cer- 


Liszt:  Poetic  and  Religious  Harmonies  197 

tain  grasp,  no  safe  reliance  on  any  life  beyond  and 
above  the  present;  a  soul  adrift  on  the  dark  ocean  of 
doubt  and  skepticism,  with  no  guiding  star  of  hope, 
no  beacon-hght  c^  promise,  not  even  the  compass  of 
faith  in  things  unseen  by  which  to  shape  its  course. 
This  mood  grows  steadily  in  intensity,  through  the 
successive  stages  of  unrest,  agitation,  distress,  despair, 
to  an  overpowering  climax.  Then  it  is  followed  by 
a  short,  quiet  movement  in  D  major,  literally  imitating 
the  tranquil  strain  of  the  organ  and  the  distant  sound 
of  cathedral  bells;  thus  symbolizing  the  promises  and 
proffered  consolations  of  the  Church;  then  a  period  of 
grave  pondering,  of  thoughtful  examination  and  intro- 
spection, and  then  the  first  theme  repeats,  but  with 
less  vehement  treatment,  in  a  gentle  though  still 
agitated  mood,  like  a  recapitulation  of  his  former 
state  from  a  newly  acquired  standpoint,  a  softened 
memory  of  the  old,  stormy,  desperate  mood. 

The  work  closes  with  a  tranquil,  flowing  movement, 
a  complete  inundation  of  the  spirit  by  a  flood  of  that 
"peace  which  passeth  understanding,"  the  benediction 
of  God  in  the  solitude.  He  has  found,  as  he  believes, 
safety,  rest,  and  reconciliation  with  divine  law  and 
will.  This  closing  strain,  in  its  reposeful  happiness, 
forms  a  fitting  and  most  beautiful  ending  to  this 
serious,  ideally  suggestive  composition. 

Other  numbers  of  this  set  are  almost  equally  interest- 
ing, but  I  have  not  space  for  more  of  them.  This  one 
will  serve  as  a  good  example,  and  I  may  add  that  it 
was  regarded  by  Liszt  himself  as  the  best  of  his  piano 
compositions. 

A  little  French  poem  from  Liszt's  own  pen,  which 


198  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

stands  as  motto  at  the  head  of  this  music,  sums  up  its 
significance.     I  append  a  nearly  literal  translation. 

•*  Whence  comes,  O  my  God,  this  sweet  peace  that  surrounds 
My  glad  heart  ?     And  this  faith  that  within  me  abounds  ? 
To  me  who,  uncertain,  in  anguish  of  mind, 
On  an  ocean  of  doubt  tossed  about  by  each  wind, 
Was  seeking  for  truth  in  the  dreams  of  the  sage, 
And  for  peace,  among  hearts  that  were  chafing  with  ragc; 
A  sudden — there  flashed  on  my  soul  from  above 
A  vision  of  glorified  heavenly  love  ; 
It  seemed  that  an  age  and  a  world  passed  away 
And  I  rise,  a  new  map,  tP  «a'|Oy  a  new  day." 


Liszt's  Ballades 


JHILE  speaking  of  Liszt's  original  com- 
positions, we  must  not  omit  his  two 
ballades,  which,  though  musically  a 
little  disappointing,    are   works   of 
considerable  magnitude  and  marked 
individuality,  and  possess  no  small 
degree  of  descriptive  interest.    They 
are  in  the  same  general   form  and 
vein  as  the  Chopin  ballades,  and  were  evidently  sug- 
gested   by   them,    though   they  cannot  be  compared 
with  them  either  for  beauty  or  for  strength. 

First  Ballade 

The  first,  in  B  minor,  is  decidedly  the  more  vigorous 
of  the  two,  and  the  more  difficult.  It  is  based  upon 
the  pathetically  tragic  story  of  the  Prisoner  of  Chillon, 
so  ably  told  in  Byron's  poem,  which  the  player  should 
read  with  care,  so  as  to  familiarize  himself  thoroughly 
with  its  incidents  and  moods.  The  poem  tells  of  that 
nameless  captive  chained  for  life  to  a  pillar  in  a  rock- 
hewn  dungeon  beneath  the  castle  of  Chillon,  on  Lake 
Leman,  below  the  surface  of  the  lake,  so  that  he  listens 

199 


200  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

day  and  night  to  the  dull  thunder  or  mournful  murmui 
of  the  changeful  waves  above  his  head,  as  his  only 
indication  of  the  shifting  moods  of  Nature  in  the 
living  world,  her  passing  smiles  and  storms,  her  slowly 
circling  seasons  as  they  come  and  go. 

*•  A  double  dungeon,  wall  and  wave 
Have  made — and  like  a  living  grave. 
Below  the  surface  of  the  lake 
The  dark  vault  lies,  wherein  we  lay : 
We  heard  its  ripple  night  and  day. 
Sounding  o'er  our  heads  it  knocked. 
And  then  the  very  rock  hath  rocked, 
And  I  have  felt  it  shake  unshocked : 
Because  I  could  have  smiled  to  see 
The  death  that  would  have  set  me  free." 

Years  drag  themselves  out  to  eternities.  One  by 
one  his  few  companions  die  of  cold  and  hunger,  leaving 
him  alone  in  that  living  tomb,  with  his  endless,  change- 
less, unutterable  misery. 

**  I  had  no  thought,  no  feeling — none. 
Among  the  stones  I  stood  a  stone. 
It  was  not  night,  it  was  not  day. 
For  all  was  blank  and  bleak  and  gray  : 
A  sea  of  stagnant  idleness, 
Blind,  boundless,  mute,  and  motionless." 

His  only  gleam  of  comfort  were  the  occasional 
visits  of  an  azure-winged  bird  that  came  now  and  then 
and  perched  on  the  window  ledge  outside  his  dun- 
geon bars,  a  fair  and  gentle  companion  symbolizing 
for  him  all  the  beauty  and  tenderness  and  sweetness 
in  the  life  he  has  lost ;  and  on  which  he  comes  to  con- 
centrate the  love  and  interest  of  his  famished  heart. 


Liszt's  Ballades  201 

•*  A  lovely  bird  with  azure  wings, 
And  song  that  said  a  thousand  things, 
And  seemed  to  say  them  all  to  roe  ! 
I  never  saw  the  like  before, 
I  ne'er  shall  see  its  likeness  more  : 
It  seemed,  like  me,  to  want  a  mate, 
But  was  not  half  so  desolate  ; 
And  it  was  come  to  love  me,  when 
None  lived  to  love  me  so  again." 

The  opening  movement  of  the  ballade,  representing 
the  thunder  of  the  waves  reverberating  through  the 
gloom  of  that  cavern-like  cell,  and  the  later  lyric, 
which  might  be  called  the  bird  theme,  suggesting 
his  tender  communing  with  his  little  friend,  are  the 
best  movements  in  the  work.  The  details  of  the  story 
are  not  carried  out,  but  its  outlines,  and  especially  its 
moods,  are  clearly  given. 

Second  Ballade 

The  second  ballade,  in  D  fiat  major,  is  more  melodi- 
ous and  attractive,  but  less  strong.  It  is  dedicated  to 
Liszt's  life-long  friend  and  powerful  patron,  the  Duke 
of  Weimar,  and,  out  of  compliment  to  him,  treats  of 
an  episode  in  the  Duke's  family  history,  back  in  the 
days  of  the  second  Crusade. 

A  young  and  gallant  chief  of  the  house  of  Weimar 
stands  in  the  rosy  light  of  early  dawn,  on  the  highest 
turret  of  his  castle,  with  his  newly  wedded  bride, 
taking  a  long  farewell  of  her  and  of  their  fair  domain, 
for  at  sunrise  he  leads  his  knights  and  men-at-arms  to 
the  crusade,  and  the  return  is  years  distant  and  un- 
certain.    Their  mood  is  full  of  sadness  and  yet  of  a 


202   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

strong,  religious  exultation  and  trust.  His  mission  is  a 
grand  and  glorious  one.  Heaven  will  surely  guide  and 
protect  its  faithful  knights,  and  his  lady  bids  him  God- 
speed, though  with  tearful  eyes.  From  the  castle 
court  below,  sounds  of  gathering  troops  and  martial 
preparation  rise  to  their  ears,  at  first  faintly,  then 
with  growing  din  and  clamor,  till  a  burst  of  trumpets 
greets  the  rising  sun ;  the  gates  are  flung  open  and, 
hastily  descending,  he  takes  his  place  at  the  head  of 
his  forces  and  they  march  away  to  the  strains  of 
inspiriting  military  music.  The  lady  still  stands  alone 
on  her  turret,  waving  her  greetings — stands  there,  as 
he  sees  her  last,  flooded  with  the  glory  of  the  morning, 
an  embodiment  of  love  and  hope  and  promise — a 
vision  to  haunt  his  waking  dreams  in  far-away  Pales- 
tine, to  cheer  his  lonely  camp-fire  vigils  and  lead  him 
to  victory  on  the  field  of  action. 

As  she  still  stands  dreamily  watching  the  last  gleam 
of  the  spear-points,  the  last  flutter  of  the  receding 
banners,  the  sanguine  fancy  of  youth  leaps  the  inter- 
vening years,  and  she  thinks  she  hears  the  strains  of 
the  martial  music  at  the  head  of  the  returning  army 
coming  in  triumph  back  from  a  successful  campaign. 

The  successive  moments  in  the  story  above 
sketched  are  given  with  realistic  distinctness  in  the 
music,  and  can  be  followed  without  difiiculty. 


Transcriptions  for  the  Piano  by 
Franz  Liszt 


HE  peculiar  aptitude  required  for  suc- 
cessfully rewriting  a  song  or  orches- 
tral composition  for  the  piano,  so 
that  it  shall  become,  not  a  mere 
bald,  literal  reproduction  of  the 
melodies  and  harmonies,  as  in  most 
of  the  piano-scores  of  the  opera,  in- 
teresting only  to  students,  but  a 
complete  and  effective  art-work  for  this  instrument, 
may  be  a  lower  order  of  genius  than  the  original  crea- 
tive faculty,  but  is  certainly  more  rare  and  almost  as 
valuable  to  the  musical  world.  It  demands,  first,  a 
clear,  discriminating  perception  of  the  essential  musical 
and  dramatic  elements  of  the  original  work,  in  their 
relative  proportions  and  degrees  of  importance,  dis- 
tinct from  the  merely  idiomatic  details  of  their  setting ; 
second,  a  supreme  knowledge  of  the  resources  and  limi- 
tations of  the  new  medium  of  expression,  so  as  at  once 
to  preserve  unimpaired  the  peculiar  character  and  pri- 
mal force  of  the  original  composition,  and  to  make  it 
sound  as  if  expressly  written  for  the  piano.  It  is  one 
thing  to  write  out  the  notes  of  an  orchestral  score  so 
that  they  are,  in  the  main,  playable  by  a  single  per- 

203 


204  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

former  on  the  piano ;  but  it  is  quite  another  thing  to 
readjust  all  the  effects  to  pianistic  possibilities,  so  as  to 
produce  in  full  measure  the  intended  artistic  impres- 
sion. There  is  practically  the  same  difference  as  in 
poetic  translation  between  the  rough,  verbal  rendering 
of  a  Latin  exercise  by  a  school-boy,  and  the  finished, 
artistic  English  version  of  a  poem  from  some  foreign 
tongue,  by  a  gifted  and  scholarly  writer  like  Long- 
fellow. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  or  said  of  Liszt  as  an 
original  composer,  in  his  piano  transcriptions  he  has 
never  had  an  equal,  scarcely  even  a  would-be  com- 
petitor. His  work  in  this  line  is  of  inestimable  im- 
portance to  the  pianist,  both  as  student  and  public 
performer,  and  forms  a  rich  and  extensive  depart- 
ment of  piano  literature.  Think  what  a  gap  would 
be  left  in  any  artist's  repertoire  if  Liszt's  transcrip- 
tions, including  the  rhapsodies,  were  struck  out  of 
it;  for  the  rhapsodies  are  only  transcriptions  of  gipsy 
music.  Practically  all  of  Wagner's  music  that  is 
available  for  the  pianist  he  owes  to  Liszt's  able  inter- 
mediation. True,  Brassin  has  done  some  commendable 
work  in  his  settings  of  fragments  from  the  Nibelungen 
operas,  but  of  these  the  "Magic  Fire"  music  is  the 
only  really  usable  number;  and  this,  though  playable 
and  attractive  from  its  own  intrinsic  merits,  is  hardly 
satisfactory,  either  as  a  genuinely  pianistic  setting 
or  as  a  reproduction  of  the  artistic  effects  of  the 
original.  One  feels  that  it  is  an  interesting  attempt, 
not  a  complete  success ;  and  the  ' '  Ride  of  the  Walkyrie," 
which  ought  to  be  the  most  effective  of  all  the  W^agner 
numbers  for  piano,  is  wholly  unusable  for  concert  pur- 


Wagner- Liszt :  Transcriptions  205 

poses.  One  is  practically  restricted  to  Liszt  in  this 
direction,  but  finds  in  him  a  mine  of  highly  finished, 
admirably  set  gems,  accessible,  though  technically  not 
easy  to  appropriate. 

Wagner-Liszt ;  Spinning  Song,  from  the 
"Flying  Dutchman" 

Take,  for  example,  the  familiar  and  ever-enjoyable 
"Spinning  Song"  from  the  "Flying  Dutchman,"  def- 
inite and  symmetrical  in  form,  perfect  in  every  detail 
as  a  piano  composition,  eminently  playable  and  pian- 
istic,  yet  preserving  the  original  dramatic  intention 
with  absolute  completeness  and  integrity.  Those  who 
are  familiar  with  the  opera  will  need  no  explanation 
of  its  contents;  but  for  the  many  piano  students  who 
are  not,  I  give  a  brief  synopsis  of  the  scene  of  which 
this  music  is  at  once  an  accompaniment  and  a  picture ; 
for  Wagner's  music  is  all  intended  to  intensify,  by 
reduplicating  in  tone,  scenes  and  moods  represented 
on  the  stage. 

A  little  company  of  village  maidens,  in  a  seaport 
town  in  Holland,  is  assembled  of  a  winter  evening  to 
spin.  It  is  to  be  a  semi-social,  semi-useful  gathering, 
much  like  the  old  quilting  parties  of  our  grandmothers' 
time,  and  they  are  all  in  the  best  of  spirits.  They 
start  the  wheels,  but  something  is  wrong  apparently; 
the  thread  breaks  or  tangles,  and  two  or  three  times 
they  are  obliged  to  stop,  wait  a  moment,  and  recom- 
mence, till  finally  the  buzz  and  hum  of  the  swift-rolling 
wheels  become  continuous.  This  orchestral  imitation 
of  the  spinning-wheel  is  a  piece  of  very  graphic  realism. 


2o6  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

and  in  the  piano  arrangement  is  given  almost  equally 
wjell  in  the  left-hand  accompaniment,  while  the  right 
hand  carries  in  chords  the  chorus  of  the  spinning 
maidens,  as  they  sing  at  their  work,  a  bright,  joyous, 
rhythmical  song,  full  of  gaiety  and  wit,  as  shown  by 
an  occasional  interruption  by  a  bmst  of  merry  laughter. 

In  the  very  midst  of  their  jollity  they  are  startled 
into  an  abrupt  silence  by  the  ominous  sound  of  a 
single  horn  close  by,  and  they  suspend  their  work  to 
listen.  The  horn  rings  out,  clear  and  strong,  a  peculiar 
impressive  signal,  which  they  know  and  dread  as  that 
of  the  "Flying  Dutchman,"  the  terror  of  those  shores, 
the  fated  commander  of  a  phantom  ship,  manned  by 
a  specter  crew,  who  sails  the  northern  seas  eternally, 
in  winter  storm  and  summer  fog,  condemned  forever  to 
this  ghastly  isolation  from  his  living  fellow-men,  and 
striking  terror  to  the  hearts  of  all  the  simple  fisher-folk, 
whenever  the  dim  outlines  of  his  ship  are  seen  in  the 
misty  offing;  and  especially  when  his  signal  horn  is 
heard;  for  it  is  known  that  he  does  sometimes  land. 
His  only  possible  chance  of  escape  from  the  awful 
curse  upon  him  is  that  once  in  a  hundred  years  he  is 
permitted  to  spend  a  few  brief  days  on  shore  and  mingle 
with  his  kind,  and  if,  during  that  short  period,  he  can 
win  the  love  of  any  true  maiden  so  completely  that 
she  will  voluntarily  give  her  life  for  him,  then  the 
curse  is  ended  and  both  may  rise  to  the  realms  of  the 
blessed  together.  It  is  a  grand  opportunity  for  gener- 
ous self-sacrifice  on  the  part  of  some  noble  girl;  but 
naturally  all  shrink  from  it,  and  are  panic-stricken  at 
his  approach. 

But  the  horn  dies  away.     Echo  repeats  the  notes 


Wagner-Liszt :  Transcriptions  207 

and  drops  them.  All  is  still.  They  think  he  is  merely 
passing,  as  he  often  does,  and  has  no  intention  of  land- 
ing here  at  present.  So,  after  a  little  timid  hesitation, 
they  resume  their  work  and  their  song,  become  as 
hilarious  as  before,  even  more  so,  going  off  at  last  into 
a  perfect  gale  of  laughter,  in  the  midst  of  which  the 
horn  sounds  again;  this  time  nearer,  louder,  more  im- 
portunate. Surely  he  is  about  to  land,  perhaps  is 
already  on  shore  and  approaching;  and  then  there  is 
a  frenzy  of  panic ;  work  is  flung  aside,  wheels  are  over- 
turned in  the  confusion,  and  the  girls  scatter  in  mad 
terror  in  all  directions;  and  with  this  flight  the  scene 
closes,  and  this  transcription  for  the  piano  ends. 

I  will  add,  however,  for  the  completion  of  the 
stor}'^,  that  one  of  the  girls,  the  heroine,  her  woman's 
heart  touched  to  pity  by  the  awful  destiny  of  the 
curse-laden  commander,  remains,  half  in  eagerness, 
half  in  fear,  to  meet  him  at  his  entrance  and  to  be- 
come the  willing  sacrifice  for  his  redemption. 

The  keynote  of  the  whole  opera  is  found  in  that 
sublimest  of  all  facts — human  love  triumphant  over 
fate. 

With  this  story  in  mind,  even  those  quite  unfamiliar 
with  the  music  cannot  fail  to  recognize  and  follow  the 
successive  details  of  the  scene  described :  the  whir  and 
hum  of  the  spinning-wheels,  the  chorus  of  singing 
maidens,  the  entrance  of  the  signal  horn,  with  its  echo 
and  the  terror  that  follows;  the  repetition  of  these  in- 
cidents in  growing  climax,  and  the  mad  confusion 
and  scamper  at  the  close. 


-aoS  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

Wagner-Liszt:  Tannhauser  March 
Liszt's  brilliant  transcription  of  this  fragment  of  the 
Tannhauser  music  is  another  of  the  most  popular  and 
grateful  Wagner  numbers  for  the  piano.  It  must  not 
be  confounded  with  the  "March  of  the  Pilgrims," 
or,  more  properly,  the  "Pilgrim's  Chorus,"  as  it  often 
is  by  those  not  familiar  with  the  opera.  The  latter, 
a  chorus  of  fervently  devout  pilgrims  departing  for 
the  Holy  Land,  is  solemn,  inspiring,  but  somber  in 
character,  while  the  march  is  brilliantly  festive  in  tone, 
gorgeous  in  coloring,  pompously  magnificent  in  its 
martial  rhythms,  its  rich  major  harmonies  and  its 
ringing  trumpet  themes.  It  appropriately  accompanies 
the  entrance  of  a  long  and  splendidly  appareled  proces- 
sion of  guests  into  the  old  castle  known  as  the  Wacht 
Burg,  a  famous  feudal  stronghold  in  Thuringia  during 
the  middle  ages.  They  have  assembled  in  holiday 
mood  and  attire  to  witness  one  of  those  prize  contests 
in  singing — a  sort  of  musical  tournament  between  the 
leading  Minnesingers  of  the  time,  frequently  held  at 
the  castles  of  the  powerful  German  nobles  of  that 
period.  The  word  Minne  is  an  old  German,  poetic 
synonym  for  Liebe,  or  love.  Hence  the  Minnesinger 
was  a  minstrel  whose  avowed  theme  was  love. 

It  was  a  gala  occasion.  Excitement  and  anticipa- 
tion ran  high,  for  some  of  the  most  celebrated  names 
of  the  time  were  on  the  list  of  competitors.  All  had 
their  favorites,  to  whom  they  were  disposed  to  accord 
the  victory  in  advance,  and  all  came  in  the  expectation, 
not  only  of  a  rich  musical  feast,  but  of  a  close  and 
sharply  contested  combat  of  genius,  for  the  honors  of 


Wagner-Liszt :  Transcriptions  209 

the  day.  The  opening  trumpet  signal  announces 
that  the  castle  gates  are  thrown  open,  and  summons 
the  guests  to  form  in  marching  order,  and  then  the 
glittering  ranks  move  forward  to  the  rhythmically 
cadenced  measures  of  the  march  music.  Gallant 
knights  in  glistening  armor,  the  pride  of  race  and 
martial  glory  in  mien  and  carriage,  stately  dames  in 
silk  and  jewels,  fair  maidens  sweet  as  the  blossoms 
they  wear,  and  old  men  in  the  dignity  of  years  and 
proven  wisdom — all  are  there  and  are  faithfully 
mirrored  in  the  music  as  they  pass  before  us.  There 
is  an  imposing  pomp  and  gorgeous  splendor  about  it; 
a  little  wearying,  it  may  be,  after  a  time,  but  certainly 
never  equaled,  if  approached,  by  any  other  composi- 
tion, and  absolutely  in  keeping  with  the  mood  and 
setting  of  the  scene.  The  tempo  should  be  very  mod- 
erate, the  rhythm  marked  and  steady,  the  contrasts 
distinct,  and  the  tone,  for  the  most  part,  full  and 
brilliant,  but  never  harsh. 


Wagner-Liszt :  Abendstern 

Another  selection  from  this  same  opera,  this  time  in 
the  lyric  vein,  which  Liszt  has  effectively  arranged 
for  the  piano,  is  the  "Evening  Star  Romance,"  as  it 
is  often  called.  It  is  one  of  the  songs  of  Wolfram, 
the  leading  baritone  of  the  opera.  The  theme  is  love, 
and  the  opening  line  of  the  song,  "O  thou,  my  gracious 
evening  star,"  clearly  indicates  the  bard's  intention. 
The  love  of  which  he  sings  is  to  be  a  modest,  distant, 
respectful  devotion,  a  pure  adoration  rather  than  a 
passionate  desire.  His  lady-fair  is  to  be  his  light,  hig 
14 


2IO  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

guide,  his  inspiration  to  lofty  vows  and  noble  deeds 
of  chivalry.  For  her  will  he  be  all  things,  achieve  all 
things,  sacrifice  all  things,  asking  no  reward  but  her 
smile  of  approbation.  She  is  to  be  his  divinity,  not 
his  bride;  to  be  worshiped,  not  possessed. 

The  mood  is  one  of  glowing  enthusiasm  and  ideal 
unselfishness,  but  subdued  to  a  dreamy,  half  intensity, 
like  sunlight  through  a  fleece  of  summer  clouds.  The 
player  should  strive  to  produce  in  the  melody  the  ef- 
fects of  a  rich,  mellow  baritone  voice,  clearly,  smoothly, 
musically  modulated,  warm,  but  never  impassioned. 
The  Minnesingers  always  accompany  themselves  upon 
the  harp,  and  the  harp  effects  used  by  Wagner  in  the 
orchestra  have  been  retained,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
by  Liszt  in  the  piano  arrangement,  and  must  be  re- 
produced by  the  player  with  the  utmost  fidelity. 


Wagner-Liszt :   Isolde's  Love  Death 

One  of  the  most  vividly  interesting,  to  musicians, 
of  all  the  Wagner-Liszt  transcriptions,  is  the  death 
scene  from  "Tristan  und  Isolde,"  known  as  "Isolde's 
Love  Death."  It  is  not  a  number  easily  grasped,  or 
usually  enjoyed  by  the  general  audience;  and  the 
elemental  power  and  intensity  of  the  passion  it  so 
forcefully  expresses  have  been  often  criticized  as 
morbid,  unnatural,  and  exaggerated,  by  those,  the 
mildly  tempered  milk-and-water  of  whose  stormiest 
passions  never  exceed  the  moderate,  decorous  fury  of  a 
tempest  in  a  tea-pot.  But  to  those  who  can  sympa- 
thize with  and  appreciate  its  irresistible,  volcanic  out- 
burst of   emotion,    its   overwhelming  sweep  of  life- 


Wagner- Liszt :  Transcriptions  2 1 1 

rending  anguish,  it  is  one  of  the  strongest,  grandest 
lyric  utterances  in  all  the  realm  of  music,  thrilling 
and  overpowering  the  heart  to  the  degree  of  pain  and 
terror. 

It  is  a  lyric  in  form,  in  treatment,  and  in  subject- 
matter,  dealing  exclusively  with  emotion,  not  action, 
though  its  breadth  of  outline,  its  somber  strength, 
and  its  passionate  intensity  give  it  a  decidedly  dramatic 
effect.  Here  is  no  pink-and-white  pet  of  the  modern 
drawing-room,  grieving  for  her  missing  poodle,  or 
another's  failure  to  wear  the  most  up-to-date  tie;  but 
a  glorious  primeval  woman,  with  the  fire  of  youth  and 
plenty  of  good  red  blood  in  her  veins,  a  goddess  in 
the  unreserved  frankness  of  her  feelings,  the  bound- 
less strength  of  her  devotion,  sublime  in  the  might  of 
her  passion  and  the  majesty  of  her  doom. 

Her  life  is  her  love  and  must  end  with  it.  Her 
hero-lover,  Tristan,  lies  beside  her,  dying  of  a  mortal 
wound  received  in  combat  for  love  of  her,  however 
dishonorable  in  the  world's  eyes;  and  he  is  the  more 
to  be  cherished  because  despised  and  hunted  to  his 
death  by  his  king  and  former  comrades  for  her  sake. 
Further  attempt  at  flight  with  him  is  hopeless.  Fate 
and  their  foes  are  closing  swiftly  in  around  them.  The 
end  is  inevitable.  Their  brief,  wild  dream  of  stolen 
happiness  is  over.  The  first  black,  crushing  moment 
of  despairing  realization,  portrayed  in  the  opening 
measiu'es  in  sober  chords,  is  followed  by  a  strain  of 
sweet,  tender,  but  plaintive  reminiscence  of  what  love 
was  to  them  and  might  have  been.  Then  comes  a  long, 
steadily  growing,  tremendously  impassioned  climax 
of  impotent  protest,  of  desperate  love,  of  vehement. 


212   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

heart-breaking  sorrow,  all  mingled  in  one  glowing  lava 
stream  of  frenzied  anguish,  merging  at  last  into  a  soft, 
half-delirious  vision  of  reunion  and  happiness  beyond 
the  grave,  in  which  her  spirit  takes  its  flight,  to  realms, 
we  will  hope,  where  hearts,  not  crowned  heads,  were 
the  arbiters  of  her  woman's  destiny. 

Those  who  have  no  sympathy  with  a  really  great 
passion  which  sweeps  all  before  it,  flinging  the  pretty 
policies  and  cut-and-dried  conventions  of  life  aside 
like  straw  in  the  path  of  a  cataract,  had  better  let  this 
music  alone.  It  is  not  for  them  either  to  feel  or  to 
render.  It  requires  exceptional  intensity  of  treat- 
ment, a  broad,  strong,  yet  flexible  chord-technique, 
and  an  absolute  mastery  of  the  tonal  resources  of  the 
piano. 


Schubert- Liszt:  Transcriptions 


OME  of  Liszt's  very  best  though  ear- 
liest work  in  the  line  of  pianoforte 
transcription  was  done  in  connection 
with  the  Schubert  songs ;  most  of  it 
in  the  thirties.  These  songs  were 
then  first  coming  into  prominence, 
and  their  markedly  romantic  and  de- 
scriptive character  appealed  strong- 
ly to  the  dramatic  instincts  of  this  master  of  the  piano, 
understanding  and  utilizing  as  no  other  writer  ever 
had,  the  resources  and  possibilities  of  his  instrument. 
Liszt  adapted  a  large  number  of  these  songs  to  it, 
rendering  them  most  efifectively  available  as  piano 
solos,  selecting  mainly  those  in  which  the  character 
of  the  text  and  original  music  gave  opportunity  for 
suggestively  realistic  and  descriptive  treatment. 

Der  Erlkonig 

Most  famous  and  decidedly  most  dramatic  of  these 
is  the  "Erlkonig."  All  German  students  and  most 
vocalists  are  familiar  with  the  text  of  this  song,  which 
is  its  own  best  explanation;  but  the  piano  student 
may  find  a  sketch  of  the  stor>'  helpful.     It  is  a  legend 

213 


214  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

of  the  Black  Forest  in  Baden,  brought  to  the  world's 
notice  by  Goethe  in  one  of  his  most  dramatic  and 
perfectly  wrought  ballads.  This  ballad  vSchubert  set  to 
music  in  a  moment  of  highest  inspiration;  then,  in 
the  natural  reaction  and  discovnagement  following 
such  a  supreme  effort  of  genius,  he  threw  the  manu- 
script into  the  waste-basket  as  unsuccessful  and  im- 
practicable. It  was  rescued  a  few  hoiurs  later  by  a 
celebrated  tenor  of  the  day,  who  chanced  to  call,  and 
accidentally  discovering  this  gem  among  the  torn 
papers,  saved  it  to  the  world.  Liszt  recognized  its 
immense  possibilities  as  a  piano  number  and  gave  the 
song  an  instrumental  setting  which  is  even  more 
effective  than  the  original  vocal  composition. 

The  story  is  briefly  this.  A  horseman  is  riding  home- 
ward through  the  depths  of  the  Black  Forest  at  mid- 
night in  a  raging  tempest,  bearing  in  his  arms  his  little 
boy,  wrapped  safely  against  the  storm,  held  close  for 
warmth  and  safety.  The  "Erlkonig,"  or,  as  we  should 
say,  "Elf  King,"  is  abroad  in  the  dark,  storm-racked 
forest.  He  espies  the  boy,  takes  a  freakish  fancy  to 
him,  determines  to  possess  the  child,  approaches 
softly,  with  coaxing  and  persuasion,  offers  flowers, 
playthings,  pretty  elf  playmates,  everything  he  can 
think  of,  to  tempt  the  boy  to  leave  his  father,  and 
come  with  him.  But  the  little  one  is  terrified,  shrieks 
to  his  father  for  protection;  and  the  father,  while 
striving  to  quiet  his  fears,  spurs  onward  at  utmost 
speed,  seeking  in  vain  to  distance  the  pursuing  Elf 
King. 

The  composition  is  graphically  descriptive  and  con- 
tains many  varied,  yet  blended  elements.     The  swift 


Schubert- Liszt :  Transcriptions  215 

gallop  of  the  horse  over  the  broken  ground  is  given 
in  rapid  triplets  as  a  continuous  accompaniment; 
the  rush  of  the  storm-wind  through  the  moaning  pine- 
tops,  the  roar  of  the  thunder,  the  chill  and  gloom  and 
terrors  of  the  wild  night,  are  forcefully  depicted  in 
the  sweeping  crescendos  and  somber  harmonies  of  the 
left  hand,  while  the  three  voices  engaged  in  the  flying, 
intermittent  colloquy  are  rendered  the  more  distinct 
and  easy  to  follow,  by  being  played  in  different  and 
suitable  registers;  the  father's  voice  in  the  baritone — 
grave,  stern,  impressive;  the  child's  in  the  soprano — 
plaintive  and  pathetic ;  and  the  Elf  King's  high  in  the 
descant — sweet,  seductive,  persuasive,  impossible  to 
mistake.  Three  times  this  colloquy  is  renewed,  with 
growing  agitation,  each  time  ending  with  the  terrified 
shriek  of  the  child,  while  the  flight  and  pursuit  con- 
tinue with  increasing  speed,  and  the  tempest  grows 
apace.  Finally  the  Elf  King  loses  patience,  throws 
off  the  mask  of  friendly  gentleness,  declares  that  if 
the  child  will  not  come  willingly  he  shall  use  force, 
and  tries  to  take  him  by  violence.  The  child  shrieks 
for  the  third  time  in  an  anguish  of  fear,  for  the  touch 
of  the  elf  is  death  to  a  mortal. 

The  father,  now  himself  frantic  with  terror,  spurs 
on  madly  for  home,  with  the  tempest  crashing  about 
him.  He  reaches  his  door  at  last  and  dismounts  in 
fancied  security,  only  to  find  the  boy  dead  in  his  arms ; 
and  perhaps  the  most  impressive  moment  of  the  whole 
composition  is  that  at  its  suddenly  subdued,  solemnly 
mournful  close,  when  he  stands  at  the  goal  of  his 
furious  but  futile  race,  and  gazes,  by  the  light  of  his 
own  home  fire,  into  the  dead  face  of  his  child. 


2i6  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

Hark  I  Hark!  the  Lark 
Among  the  Schubert-Liszt  transcriptions,  the  one 
which  probably  stands  next  to  the  "Erlkonig"  in 
general  popularity  is  the  song  ' '  Hark !  Hark !  the  Lark 
at  Heaven's  Gate  Sings!"  the  words  being  the  well- 
known,  charming  little  matin  song  by  Shakespeare 
which  Schubert  has  set  to  music  with  all  his  infallible 
insight  into  their  exact  emotional  import,  and  all  his 
masterly  command  of  musical  resources,  reproducing 
in  the  melody  and  its  harmonic  background  the  effect 
intended  in  every  line  of  the  text,  filling  every  subtlest 
shade  of  feeling  to  a  nicety,  realizing  once  again  that 
ideal  union,  that  perfect  marriage  of  words  and  music, 
so  difficult  and  so  rare  with  most  song-writers,  but 
which  was  a  distinguishing  characteristic  of  Schubert's 
work. 

In  his  piano  accompaniment  Liszt  has  displayed 
even  more  than  his  usual  skill  in  preserving  all  the 
intrinsic  beauty  and  precise  poetic  significance  of  the 
original,  besides  giving  to  it  an  eminently  pianistic 
form.  The  music  is  bright,  buoyant,  joyous  as  the 
summer  morning,  fresh  as  its  breezes,  light  as  its 
floating  clouds,  stirring  our  hearts  with  the  revivifying 
call  of  a  new  day,  breathing  hope  and  happiness  in 
every  measure,  while  the  airy  rippling  embellishments 
remind  us  of  the  exuberant  song  of  the  skylark,  as  he 
rises  exultantly  to  meet  the  dawn,  shaking  the  dew 
from  his  swift  wings  and  pouring  out  the  plenitude 
of  his  glad  heart  upon  the  awakening  earth  in  a  spark- 
ling shower  of  music,  like  the  bubbling  overflow  of 
some  sky  fountain  of  pure  delight. 


Schubert- Liszt :  Transcriptions  217 

The  player  and  listener  will  do  well  to  have  in 
mind  Shelley's  lines,  describing  the  "clear,  keen  joy- 
ance"  of  that  "scorner  of  the  ground,"  the  English 
skylark. 

Gretchen  am  Spinnrad 

A  striking  contrast  to  the  composition  just  de- 
scribed is  afforded  by  the  equally  able  but  intensely 
mournful  transcription  entitled  "  Gretchen  am  Spinn- 
rad." 

The  text  of  this  song  is  taken  from  Goethe's  "Faust." 
It  is  the  song  of  Marguerite,  sitting  at  her  wheel, 
in  the  gathering  dusk  of  evening,  spinning  mechanically 
from  the  force  of  long  habit,  but  with  her  thoughts 
engrossed  by  memories  of  her  lost  happiness,  her 
ruined  life,  and  blighted  future.  The  mood  is  one  of 
overwhelming  melancholy,  of  crushing  despair,  whose 
dark  depths  are  fitfully  stirred  from  time  to  time  by  a 
rebellious  surge  of  passionate  but  hopeless  longing, 
as  her  heart  throbs  to  some  passing  recollection  of 
departed  joys  and  love's  fateful  delirium. 

Her  dashing  but  faithless  lover,  Faust,  after  winning 
and  betraying  her  affection,  robbing  her  of  the  inno- 
cence and  tranquil  happiness  of  girlhood,  has  aban- 
doned her  to  face  her  bitter  fate  alone ;  and  she  moans 
in  her  solitary  anguish: 

"  My  peace  is  gone,  my  heart  oppressed, 
And  never  again  will  my  soul  find  rest." 

The  music  perfectly  voices  the  piteous  sadness  of 
her  mood,  with  the  occasional  intermittent  outbursts 
of  passion ;  while  the  monotonous  hum  of  the  spinning- 


2i8  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

wheel,  literally  imitated  in  the  accompaniment,  as  in 
every  good  spinning  song,  seems  in  this  case  to  adapt 
itself  to  the  song  of  the  maiden,  to  harmonize  with 
its  sadness,  to  take  on  a  corresponding  melancholy, 
reflecting  the  emotions  expressed  in  her  voice  and 
words,  as  a  stream  reflects  the  somber  cloud  that 
shadows  it — a  good  illustration  of  that  universal 
principle  in  art,  which  invests  inanimate  things  with 
a  fancied  sympathy  with  human  experiences. 

Nothing  could  be  more  complete  or  perfectly  ap- 
propriate than  the  musical  treatment  of  this  subject; 
but  its  unmitigated  sadness  probably  prevents  its 
becoming  a  popular  favorite;  and  its  extreme,  though 
not  at  first  apparent,  difficulty  places  it  beyond  the 
reach  of  most  amateur  players. 


Liszt :  La  Gondoliera 


IKE  many  of  Liszt's  contributions  to 
piano  literature,  this  dainty  and 
most  pleasing  little  work  is  not 
exclusively  his  own;  that  is,  it  is 
not  an  original  melodic  creation, 
but  the  admirably  clever  arrange- 
ment or  setting  of  an  old  Venetian 
boat-song.  The  melody  has  been 
in  existence  for  many  decades,  perhaps  centuries,  and 
may  be  heard  by  any  one  who  visits  Venice,  as  sung 
by  the  gondolier  in  time  to  the  swing  of  his  dextrously 
handled  single  oar.  It  is  called  "  L,a  Biondina  in 
Gondoletta  "  ("the  blond  maid  in  a  gondola  "),  and 
was  originally  composed  by  Pistrucci,  to  words  by 
Peruchini,  and  harmonized  later  by  Beethoven,  in  his 
folk-songs,  entitled  "  Zwolf  verschiedene  Volkslieder." 
It  is  a  distinctly  Italian  melody,  with  no  pretensions 
to  great  depth  or  dramatic  intensity,  but  simple,  tender, 
and  sweet,  winning  rather  than  commanding — a  lyric 
of  the  sensuously  beautiful  type,  but  not  to  be  despised, 
as  it  is  a  spontaneous  product  of  the  sunny-tempered, 
warm-hearted  children  of  the  South.  It  contains  no 
hint  of  the  Venice  of  mystery,  of  secret  cruelty,  of 
world-wide  powers,  of  the  Council  of  the  Ten,  that 

219 


2  20  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

masked  midnight  tribunal  of  former  days ;  but  breathes 
only  of  Venice  the  fair,  in  her  moonlit  beauty — of 
Venice,  "the  Bride  of  the  Sea." 

lyiszt's  setting  gives  us  not  only  the  melody  enhanced 
by  effective  harmonic  coloring  and  delicate  embellish- 
ment, but  a  characteristic  and  picturesque  background 
of  accompaniment  suggesting  the  scene,  the  mood, 
and  the  environment;  the  low  murmur  of  the  Adri- 
atic, at  the  distant  water-gate,  pleading  to  be  admitted 
to  the  presence  of  his  Queen;  the  soft  ripples  stealing 
up  the  long  winding  canals,  whispering  their  love 
secrets  under  the  palaces  of  Juliette  and  Desdemona, 
and  creeping  fearfully  beneath  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
and  past  the  dreaded  dungeons  of  the  doges;  the 
silvery  moonlight  gleaming  upon  marble  frieze  and 
column,  and  touching  to  soft  brilliancy  the  fadeless 
tints  of  glass  mosaic ;  the  dip  and  sway  of  the  graceful 
gondola  as  it  glides  on  its  silent  way  along  those  water 
streets  between  rows  of  stately  buildings,  every  carved 
stone  of  which  is  alive  with  history  or  with  some 
romantic  legend. 

All  these  are  delicately  yet  graphically  depicted, 
while  the  boatman's  song  rises  and  falls,  seeming  now 
near,  now  distant,  as  it  is  borne  to  us  on  the  varying 
breath  of  the  light  sea-breeze.  The  whole  pictm-e  is 
one  of  subdued  evening  tints,  of  half-disclosed,  half- 
hinted  outlines,  with  a  pervading  mood  of  dreamy 
fancy,  of  wistful  tenderness.  It  seems  to  me  one  of 
Liszt's  most  perfect  and  ably  sustained  efforts  in  the 
purely  lyric,  yet  suggestively  descriptive  vein. 

At  the  close,  the  great,  sonorous  bell  of  St.  Mark's 
Cathedral    strikes    midnight,    its    grave,    deep-toned 


Liszt:   La  Gondoliera  221 

voice  majestically  commanding  the  attention.  The 
F  sharp  here  used  to  produce  the  bell  effect,  and  at  the 
same  time  serving  as  bass  in  a  prolonged  organ-point 
throughout  the  coda,  is  the  actual  keynote  of  the  St. 
Mark's  bell,  ingeniously  utilized  for  this  double  pur- 
pose. Meanwhile,  the  last  notes  of  the  song  die  away 
in  the  distance,  and  slumber,  like  a  veil  of  mist  floating 
in  from  the  summer  sea,  envelops  the  city. 


The  Music  of  the  Gipsies  and  Liszt's 
Hungarian  Rhapsodies 


ISZT,  in  his  able  and  unique  but 
somewhat  prolix  work,  entitled 
"The  Bohemians  and  Their  Music 
in  Hungary,"  which,  so  far  as  I 
can  learn,  has  never  been  translated 
into  English,  gives  some  most  inter- 
esting information  concerning  these 
much-played  and  much-discussed 
Rhapsodies,  their  origin,  character,  and  artistic  impor- 
tance, their  relation  to  the  national  music  of  the 
gipsies  and  the  racial  peculiarities  of  this  strange  peo- 
ple, which  I  believe  will  be  new  to  most  readers. 

1  present  here  what  seem  to  me  the  most  valuable 
facts  and  ideas  in  Liszt's  book  in  connection  with 
these  Rhapsodies,  using,  so  far  as  possible,  his  own 
words  translated  from  the  French.  I  have  used  the 
word  "gipsies"  for  "Bohemians"  in  the  translation; 
this  being  the  usual  English  name  for  the  race,  as 
"Bohemian"  is  the  French. 

It  should  be  distinctly  borne  in  mind  that,  contrary 
to  the  generally  prevailing  impression,  these  so-called 
Hungarian  Rhapsodies  are  not  in  any  sense  derived 
from  or  founded  upon  national  Hungarian  music,  or 

222 


Liszt:  Hungarian  Rhapsodies  223 

the  national  life  and  racial  traits  of  the  Hungarians. 
The  floating  fragments  of  wild,  fantastic  melody  and 
strange,  weird  harmony  which  Liszt  has  gathered  and 
utilized  in  this  form,  came  neither  from  the  Huns  nor 
from  the  Magyars,  whose  blended  tribes  compose  the 
present  Hungarian  race;  but  they  are  of  purely  gipsy 
origin.  It  is  distinctly  and  characteristically  gipsy 
music  which  Liszt  has  merely  adapted  to  the  piano. 
His  reasons  for  calling  these  works  Hungarian  Rhap- 
sodies he  states  as  follows: 

"In  publishing  a  part  of  the  material  which  we  had 
the  opportunity  to  collect  during  our  long  connection 
with  the  gipsies  of  Hungary-,  in  transcribing  it  for  the 
piano,  as  the  instrument  which  could  best  render,  in 
its  entirety,  the  sentiment  and  the  form  of  the  gipsy 
art,  it  was  necessary  to  select  a  generic  name  which 
should  indicate  the  doubly  national  character  which 
we  attach  to  it. 

"We  have  called  the  collection  of  these  frag- 
ments 'Hungarian  Rhapsodies.'  By  the  word  'Rhap- 
sody' we  have  wished  to  designate  the  fantastically 
epic  element  which  we  believe  we  recognize  there- 
in. Each  of  these  productions  has  always  seemed 
to  us  to  form  a  part  of  a  poetic  series.  These  frag- 
ments narrate  no  facts,  it  is  true;  but  'those  who  have 
ears  to  hear'  will  recognize  in  them  certain  states 
of  mind,  in  which  are  condensed  the  ideals  of  a  nation. 
It  ma}^  be  a  nation  of  Pariahs;  but  what  difference 
does  that  make  to  art?  Since  they  have  experienced 
sentiments  capable  of  being  idealized,  and  have 
clothed  them  in  a  form  of  undisputed  beauty,  they 
have  acquired  the  right  to  recognition  in  art. 


2  24  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

"Furthermore,  we  have  called  these  Rhapsodies 
'Hungarian  '  because  it  would  not  be  just  to  separate 
in  the  future  what  has  been  united  in  the  past.  The 
Hungarians  have  adopted  the  gipsies  as  their  national 
musicians.  They  have  identified  themselves  with 
their  proud  and  warlike  enthusiasms,  as  with  their 
poignant  griefs,  which  they  know  so  well  how  to 
depict.  They  have  not  only  associated  themselves 
in  their  'Frischka'  with  their  joys  and  feasts,  but 
have  wept  with  them  while  listening  to  their  'Lassans.' 

"The  nomadic  people  of  the  gipsies,  though  scattered 
in  many  countries,  and  cultivating  elsewhere  their 
music,  have  nowhere  given  it  a  value  equivalent  to 
that  which  it  has  acquired  on  Hungarian  soil ;  because 
in  no  other  place  has  it  met,  as  there,  the  popular 
sympathy  which  was  necessary  to  its  development. 
The  liberal  hospitality  of  the  Hungarians  toward  the 
gipsies  was  so  necessary  to  its  existence  that  it  belongs 
as  much  to  the  one  as  to  the  other.  Hungary,  then, 
can  with  good  right  claim  as  its  own  this  art  nourished 
by  its  cornfields  and  its  vineyards,  developed  by  its 
sun  and  its  shade,  encouraged  by  its  admiration,  em- 
bellished and  ennobled,  thanks  to  its  favor  and  pro- 
tection." 

These  compositions,  then,  according  to  Liszt's  own 
statement,  are  called  "Hungarian"  only  by  courtesy 
and  a  sort  of  national  adoption.  They  are  called 
"Rhapsodies"  because  of  their  resemblance,  in  form, 
character,  and  content,  to  those  detached,  fragmentary 
poems  sung  or  recited  by  the  wandering  bards,  trou- 
badours, and  rhapsodists  of  the  olden  time — poems 
embodying  the  collective  sentiments,  the  heroic  deeds. 


Liszt:  Hungarian  Rhapsodies  225 

the  touching  or  stirring  experiences  of  a  people,  which 
were  later  collected  and  welded  together,  with  more 
or  less  coherency,  by  some  master  mind,  to  form  the 
national  epic  of  that  people.  This  music,  of  an  authen- 
tically gipsy  parentage,  of  which  Liszt  speaks  as  "the 
songs  without  words"  of  the  gipsies,  and  to  which 
he  has  merely  stood  sponsor  at  its  rechristening  and 
its  introduction,  in  new  civilized  dress,  to  the  musical 
world,  is  the  only  art  form  in  which  this  enigmatical 
race  has  ever  expressed  itself — the  only  channel  through 
which  its  ill-comprehended  but  intense  inner  life  of 
emotion,  imagination,  and  vague  idealism  has  found 
vent.  It  is  the  inarticulate,  but  none  the  less  expres- 
sive, cry  of  the  soul  of  a  race  struggling  with  that 
universal  human  longing  for  self-utterance. 

Liszt's  aim,  pursued  for  many  years,  at  great  paiub 
and  with  masterly  ability,  was  to  collect  and  preserve 
for  the  world  at  least  certain  representative  portions 
of  this  music,  and  construct  from  them  a  tone  epic  of  the 
gipsies,  possessing,  not  only  from  the  artistic,  but  from 
the  historical  and  anthropological  standpoint,  an  in- 
terest and  value  similar  to  that  of  other  epics  in 
verse,  as,  for  instance,  those  of  the  Greeks,  the  Persians, 
the  Germans,  the  Finns,  Scandinavians,  etc. 

Of  the  actual  history  of  the  gipsies  little  is  known, 
save  that  they  are  the  strangest  and  most  anomalous 
people  of  the  globe.  Numerous  theories  as  to  their 
origin  have  been  advanced,  only  to  be  abandoned. 
But  the  best  belief  of  to-day  is  that  they  originated  in 
India,  being  of  the  lowest  Soodra  caste  or  Pariahs 
there,  driven  out  by  the  terrible  Mongol  invasions 
between  the  tenth  and  thirteenth  centuries  A.  D. 
15 


2  26  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

They  first  appear  to  the  historical  world  in  Egypt, 
and  their  name,  "gipsies,"  given  them  in  this  country 
and  Great  Britain,  is  but  a  corruption  of  the  word 
"Egyptian";  and  hence  they  were  long  erroneously 
supposed  to  have  originated  there.  In  other  countries 
they  have  received  various  names,  as  Bohemians  in 
France,  Gitanos  in  Spain,  Zigeuner  in  Germany, 
Zingari  in  Italy.  But  they  always  and  everywhere 
designate  themselves  as  Romani,  or  Roma  Sinte, 
meaning,  "Roma"  (men)  and  "Sinte,"  probably  from 
Scind,  or  the  Indus  River.  They  did  not  appear  in 
Western  Europe  till  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth 
centur>',  first  in  Bohemia,  then  in  France  and  Ger- 
many, and  thence  they  spread,  in  wandering  bands, 
from  natural  increase,  and,  perhaps,  from  further 
immigration,  over  most  of  Europe  and  other  large  por- 
tions of  the  world,  everywhere  abused  and  hated,  and 
by  most  governments  cruelly  persecuted.  The  Aus- 
trian government,  under  Maria  Theresa,  was  the 
main,  modified  exception  to  this  harshness.  She  en- 
couraged and  protected  them  in  some  localities  in 
Hungary,  and,  under  this  more  humane  care,  they 
have  there  lived,  in  very  considerable  numbers,  a 
more  stable  and  localized  life  than  elsewhere  on  earth, 
affording  some  modifications  and  improvement  of 
their  general  habits  and  character,  as  nomad,  oriental 
vagabonds. 

Liszt,  in  the  book  referred  to,  has  eloquently  and 
strikingly  characterized  this  strange  people,  as  follows : 
"Among  the  nations  of  Europe  there  suddenly  ap- 
peared one  day  a  people,  whence  no  one  could  definitely 
say.     It  cast  itself  upon  the  Continent  without  show- 


Liszt:  Hungarian   Rhapsodies  227 

ing  any  desire  of  conquest,  but  also  without  asking 
any  right  to  a  domicile.  It  did  not  desire  to  appro- 
priate to  itself  an  inch  of  ground,  but  it  declined  to 
give  up  an  hour  of  time.  It  had  no  wish  to  conquer, 
but  it  refused  to  submit.  It  avowed  neither  from 
what  Asiatic  or  African  plateaus  it  had  descended, 
nor  from  what  necessity  it  had  sought  other  skies.  It 
brought  no  memories ;  it  betrayed  no  hope.  Too  vain 
of  its  sad  race  to  condescend  to  merge  itself  in  any 
other,  it  was  content  to  live  repulsing  all  foreign 
elements.  .  .  .  This  is  a  strange  people,  so 
strange  as  to  resemble  no  other  in  any  respect.  It 
possesses  neither  country,  nor  religion,  nor  history, 
nor  any  law  whatever.  ...  It  permits  no  in- 
fluence, no  will,  no  persecution,  no  instruction  either 
to  modify,  dissolve,  or  extirpate  it.  It  is  divided 
into  tribes,  hordes,  and  bands  which  wander  here  and 
there,  following  each  the  route  dictated  by  chance, 
without  communication  with  each  other,  largely 
ignoring  their  collective  existence,  but  each  preserving, 
under  the  most  distant  meridian,  with  a  solidarity 
which  is  sacred  to  them,  infallible  rallying  signs,  the 
same  physiognomy,  the  same  language,  the  same 
manners.  .  .  .  The  ages  pass.  The  world  pro- 
gresses. The  countries  where  they  sojourn  make  war 
or  peace,  change  masters  and  manners,  while  they 
remain  impassive  and  indifferent,  living  from  day  to 
day,  profiting  by  the  preoccupations  caused  by  events 
which  decide  the  fate  of  nations,  to  secure  their  own 
existence  with  less  difficulty.  .  .  .  This  people 
that  shares  the  joys,  the  sorrows,  the  prosperities,  and 
misfortunes  of  no  other;  that,  like  an  incarnate  sar- 


2  28  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

casm,  laughs  at  the  ambitions,  the  tears,  the  combats, 
and  festivals  of  all  others ;  that  knows  neither  whence 
it  came  nor  whither  it  goes ;  .  .  .  that  preserves 
no  traditions  and  registers  no  annals;  that  has  no 
faith  and  no  law,  no  belief  and  no  rule  of  conduct; 
that  is  held  together  only  by  gross  superstitions, 
vague  customs,  constant  misery,  and  deep  humiliation ; 
this  people,  that  nevertheless  is  obstinate,  at  the 
price  of  all  degradation  and  destitution,  to  preserve 
its  tents  and  its  tatters,  its  hunger  and  its  liberty; 
this  people,  that  exercises  upon  civilized  nations  an 
indescribable  and  indestructible  fascination,  passing 
as  a  mysterious  legacy  from  one  age  to  the  next, 
all  defamed  as  it  is,  offers  nevertheless  some  striking 
and  charming  types  to  our  grandest  poets ;  this  people, 
so  heterogeneous,  of  a  character  so  indomitable,  so 
intractable,  so  inexplicable,  must  conceal,  in  some 
corner  of  its  heart,  some  lofty  qualities,  since,  sus- 
ceptible of  idealization,  it  has  idealized  itself;  for  it 
has  poems  and  songs  which,  if  united,  might  perhaps 
form  the  national  epic  of  the  gipsies." 

It  is  from  such  a  people,  so  understood  and  described 
by  him,  that  Liszt  has  taken  the  musical  fragments 
inwrought  into  his  Hungarian  Rhapsodies;  and  he 
reasons  at  length  and  ingeniously  as  to  his  right  to  call 
these  musical  cycles  parts  of  what  could  be  enlarged 
and  made  to  cohere  into  a  national  tone  epic.  This 
people,  being  unfitted  to  express  itself  nationally  in 
any  other  mode  save  through  its  wonderful,  though 
rude  and  uncultivated,  instinct  for  music,  "as  it  drew 
the  bow  upon  the  strings  of  the  violin,  inspiration 
taught   it,    without   its   seeking,    rhythms,   cadences, 


Liszt:  Hungarian  Rhapsodies  229 

modulations,  songs,  speech,  and  discourse.  Hegel  was 
not  wrong,"  says  I.iszt,  "when  he  gives  to  the  word 
'epic'  more  of  the  signification  of  the  verb  *to 
speak,'  or  utter,  than  of  the  substantive,  'recital'; 
and  these  tone  pictures  are  fragments  of  an  epic, 
because  they  speak  sentiments  which  are  common 
to  all  the  race,  which  form  their  inner  nature,  the 
physiognomy  of  their  soul,  the  expression  of  their 
whole  sentient  being."  And  therefore,  in  summary 
conclusion,  lyiszt  says:  "Believing  that  the  scattered 
fragments  of  the  instrumental  music  of  the  gipsies, 
properly  arranged,  with  some  understanding  of  the 
succession  necessary  to  make  them  reciprocally  valu- 
able, would  afford  the  expression  of  those  collective 
sentiments  which  inhere  in  the  entire  people,  de- 
termining their  character  and  customs,  one  feels  him- 
self authorized  to  give  to  such  a  collection  the  name  of 
National  Epic." 

Regarded  from  a  purely  musical  standpoint,  the 
Rhapsodies  have  occasioned  much  controversy  and 
considerable  adverse  criticism  on  the  part  of  certain 
musicians  who  pride  themselves  on  their  loyalty  to 
conservative  traditions.  They  have  been  decried  as 
trivial,  superficial,  and  sensational ;  as  lacking  in  depth 
and  dignity,  in  symmetry  of  form  and  nobility  of  senti- 
ment. These  critics  seem  to  forget  that  the  object  of 
all  art  is  primarily,  not  instruction  or  elevation,  or 
even  abstract  beauty,  but  expression.  Its  mission  is 
to  portray,  not  exclusively  the  highest  and  grandest 
emotions  of  humanity,  but  every  experience,  every 
shade  of  feeling,  every  psychological  possibility  of  the 
race,   with  equally  sympathetic   fidelity.     Humanity 


230  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

is  the  broad  theme;  and  the  various  forms  of  art,  on 
which  the  specialist  is  apt  to  lay  undue  stress,  are 
only  the  means  of  expression,  not  the  supreme  end. 
That  form  is  best,  in  any  given  case,  which  best  serves 
the  artist's  purpose. 

It  should  be  remembered  that  the  music  under  dis- 
cussion does  not  purport  to  embody  the  loftiest  or 
profoundest  sentiment  which  Liszt  was  personally 
capable  of  feeling  or  portraying,  but  the  life,  scenes, 
and  moods  of  the  gipsy  camp,  presented  in  the  primi- 
tive, but  spontaneous  and  vividly  graphic,  tone 
imagery  of  the  gipsies  themselves.  Who  shall  say 
that,  as  a  representative  racial  art,  it  is  not  precisely 
as  legitimate,  as  worthy,  and  as  genuinely  artistic 
as  the  characteristic  national  art  of  the  Germans, 
the  Italians,  or  any  other  people?  Who  shall  presume 
to  dictate  to  the  artist  what  subject,  or  class  of  sub- 
jects, he  may  or  may  not  select  for  treatment  ?  I  re- 
peat, all  art  has  for  its  mission  the  expression  of  life,  all 
life ;  not  the  establishment  or  maintenance  of  standards 
either  of  morals  or  emotions ;  still  less  of  mere  forms 
of  expression.  Is  not  the  gipsy  maid,  with  her  un- 
governed  caprices,  her  moments  of  exuberant  gaiety, 
or  passionate  grief,  just  as  much  alive,  hence  as 
legitimate  a  theme  for  the  artist,  and  certainly  as  in- 
teresting and  romantic  a  subject  for  art  treatment, 
as  the  staid  German  Hausjrau,  or  the  frivolous  Ameri- 
can society  girl?  The  beggar  boy  has  been  as  ably 
painted,  and  is  considered  as  artistic  a  figure  as  the 
king.  Poets  have  sung  the  loves  of  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  as  fondly  as  those  of  lords  and  ladies. 
Is  not,  then,  a  good  portrayal  of  a  gipsy  camp,  whether 


Liszt:  Hungarian  Rhapsodies  231 

in  words,  colors,  or  tones,  just  as  legitimate  a  work 
of  art  as  an  equally  able  picture  of  an  imperial  palace, 
or  an  imposing  cathedral?  Will  not  "Carmen"  live 
as  long  on  the  operatic  stage  as  even  that  paragon  of 
all  feminine  virtues,  "Fidelio"?  Is  not  Don  Juan  as 
immortal  a  personage  in  art  as  Lohengrin?  Goethe 
says:  "We  have  only  the  right  to  ask  three  questions 
of  any  art  work:  First,  what  did  the  artist  intend? 
Second,  was  it  worth  doing  ?  Third,  has  he  succeeded  ? " 
Judged  from  this,  the  only  true  standpoint  of  esthetic 
criticism,  I  venture  to  maintain  that  the  Hungarian 
Rhapsodies  are  just  as  good  and  just  as  legitimate 
music,  in  their  own  peculiar  way, — that  is  to  say, 
they  fulfil  the  essential  conditions  of  their  special 
artistic  purpose,  as  well  and  as  completely, — as  the 
Bach  fugues,  or  the  Beethoven  sonatas. 

Granting,  if  need  be,  that  the  Rhapsodies  are  sen- 
sational, heaven  protect  us  from  music  that  produces 
no  sensation!  And,  in  this  case,  it  is  the  sensation, 
or  startling  effect,  not  of  mere  brilliancy,  but  of  the 
unfamiliar  contact  with  the  spirit  of  a  race  radically 
differing  from  our  own ;  not  sensuous  and  superficial, 
but  profoundly  temperamental,  possessing  all  the 
fresh  charm  of  new  thought  expressed  in  a  novel 
idiom.  Granting  again  that  their  melodies  are  capri- 
cious and  fantastic,  their  harmonies  strange  and  half- 
barbaric,  their  form  incoherent  and  wholly  at  variance 
with  our  established  notions  of  musical  structure,  all 
this  but  renders  them  the  more  characteristic.  The 
picturesque  gipsy  could  not  appear  to  advantage,  nor 
as  a  typical  figure  in  conventional  evening  dress,  with 
punctilious   drawing-room   manners;   and   the   senti- 


232  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

ments  imputed  to  hira,  to  be  true  to  life,  must  not  be 
those  of  the  cultivated  modern  gentleman,  expressed 
with  the  stately  precision  affected  by  the  scholastic 
world;  but  primitive,  elementary,  to  some  degree 
chaotic,  uttered  with  the  rude  force  and  directness  of 
the  undeveloped  nature.  In  brief,  he  must  be  repre- 
sented against  the  background  and  amid  the  surround- 
ings which  are  his  natural  environment. 

These  Rhapsodies  are  to  be  taken  as  rough  but 
faithful  self-portraitures  of  the  gipsies,  strictly  on  their 
own  standards  of  merit,  as  art  works  in  a  department 
by  themselves,  with  a  pronounced  individuality  and 
a  definite  purpose.  They  are  sixteen  in  number,  and 
all  constructed  on  the  same  general  plan,  made  up, 
like  mosaics,  of  widely  varying  fragments  of  melody, 
each  expressing  some  particular  mood  or  phase  of  life, 
but  combined  so  as  to  give  a  comprehensive  impres- 
sion of  the  scenes  and  conditions  of  gipsy  camps, 
familiar  to  Liszt  for  many  years,  through  frequent 
and  lengthy  visits,  as  vividly  described  by  him  in  the 
book  from  which  we  have  so  largely  quoted. 

Roughly  speaking,  the  melodies  so  interwoven  in 
the  Rhapsodies  may  be  divided  into  three  classes, 
all  of  which  appear  in  about  equal  proportions,  and 
with  their  ever  startling  sharpness  of  contrast,  in  each 
and  all  of  these  works:  the  "lassan,"  a  slow,  mourn- 
fully lugubrious  song,  expressing  the  uttermost  depths 
of  depression;  the  "frischka,"  a  bright,  playful,  capri- 
cious dance  movement,  full  of  grace,  humor,  and 
witching  coquetry,  and  the  "czardas,"  a  furious, 
almost  demoniac  dance  portraying  the  dance  deHriura 
at  its  most   intoxicating  extreme,   resembling  some- 


Liszt:  Hungarian  Rhapsodies  233 

what  the  Tarantelle  of  Spain  and  the  Dervish  dance 
of  the  Orient.  These  three,  with  an  occasional  brief 
strain  from  a  fugitive  love-song,  shy  and  elusive  as 
the  notes  of  some  timid  night  bird,  or  a  march-like 
movement  of  wild  but  distinctly  martial  character, 
formed  the  crude  material  from  which  Liszt  has 
wrought  these  always  effective  and  thoroughly  pianis- 
tic  compositions.  A  brief,  special  reference  to  two 
or  three  of  the  best  known  among  them  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  indicate  an  intelligent  interpretation  of  them  all. 

The  No.  6,  for  instance,  begins  with  one  of  the 
march  movements  referred  to.  It  is  rhythmic  and 
pompous,  with  a  bold,  half-barbaric  splendor.  Next 
comes  one  of  the  slower  forms  of  the  "frischka,"  which 
is  often  sung  in  Hungary  to  the  words  of  a  half-tipsy 
drinking-song.  Then  follows  one  of  the  most  doleful 
of  the  "lassans,"  the  words  to  which,  in  free  transla- 
tion, run  as  follows:  "My  father  is  dead,  my  mother 
is  dead,  I  have  no  brothers  or  sisters,  and  all  the 
money  that  I  have  left  will  just  buy  a  rope  to  hang 
myself  with." 

The  work  closes  with  one  of  the  wildest,  most  im- 
petuous of  the  "czardas"  dances,  which  Liszt  has 
wrought  up  to  an  irresistible,  overwhelming  climax. 

The  No.  12  begins  with  a  slow,  gloomy  recitative 
delivered  with  an  impressive  dignity  so  exaggerated  as 
to  border  on  the  bombastic ;  a  tale  of  strange  adven- 
tures, it  may  be,  narrated  by  the  chief  of  the  tribe  at 
the  evening  camp-fire,  while  the  flickering  firelight 
plays  upon  the  picturesque  figures  grouped  about 
against  the  somber  background  of  the  pines,  and  the 
thunder  mutters  sullenly   in  the  distance.     Then  a 


234  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

quiet  bit  of  lyric,  evidently  a  love-song,  gives  a  touch 
of  softness  to  the  scene,  and  hints  at  a  covert  courtship 
among  the  shadows.  Later,  the  crisp,  piquant  music 
of  the  "frischka"  calls  the  young  people  to  the  dance, 
which  gradually  increases  in  speed  and  brilliancy,  till 
it  finally  merges  in  the  "czardas,"  in  which  all  join, 
and  which  is  given  with  the  greatest  possible  dash  and 
abandon. 

No.  15  is  founded  upon,  and  mainly  consists  of  the 
Rakoczy  March,  composed  by  a  gipsy  musician  in 
honor  of  Rakoczy,  that  Hungarian  patriot,  popular 
general,  and  hero,  whose  daring  exploits  as  leader, 
in  the  Hungarian  struggle  for  independence,  made  him 
a  prominent  historical  figure  of  his  time,  and  the  idol 
of  his  countrymen.  This  march  has  been  adopted  as 
the  national  march  of  Hungary,  and  Liszt's  setting 
of  it  for  piano  is  among  his  most  stupendous  works. 

These  few  illustrations  may  serve  as  guides  in  form- 
ing a  correct  conception  of  all  the  Rhapsodies.  I 
have  given  to  the  foregoing  article  more  space  than 
seems,  at  first  thought,  to  be  warranted;  partly,  be- 
cause it  gives  a  somewhat  unusual  point  of  view  in 
considering  Liszt,  not  only  as  a  composer,  but  as  a 
thoughtful  and  philosophic  student  of  esthetics,  and 
as  an  eloquent,  forceful  writer ;  partly,  because  I  hope 
it  may  produce  in  the  minds  of  some  readers  a  more 
favorable,  because  more  justly  discriminating,  attitude 
of  mind  toward  these  Hungarian  Rhapsodies  as 
musical  art  works ;  but  mainly,  because  it  emphasizes, 
with  the  powerful  support  of  Liszt's  authority,  cer- 
tain general  principles  of  art  which  seem  to  me  all- 
important,  but  which  are  too  often  ignored  in  con- 
sidering the  special  art  of  music. 


is3e 


IS94 


Rubinstein :  Barcarolle,  in  G  Major 


^RICTLY  speaking,  the  "barcarolle" 
is  an  Italian  boat-song — "barca" 
being  the  Italian  word  for  boat. 
But  in  musical  terminology  it  has 
been  localized  and  signifies  distinctly 
a  Neapolitan  boat-song  associated 
as  exclusively  with  the  Vesuvian  bay 
as  is  the  gondoliera  with  the  lagoons 
and  canals  of  Venice.  In  each  case  it  is  the  song  of 
the  local  boatman,  sung  to  the  rhythmical  accom- 
paniment of  the  swinging  oar,  and  enhanced  in  poetic 
charm  by  the  beauty  and  romantic  atmosphere  of  the 
surroundings.  In  each  case  also  it  has  served  as  a 
suggestive  and  grateful  artistic  subject  for  musical 
treatment,  used  by  nearly  all  the  modern  composers, 
great  and  small,  and  one  which  is  particularly  suited 
to  the  pianoforte  and  facilely  adapted  to  its  character- 
istic resources. 

In  many  respects  the  barcarolle,  in  this  its  idealized 
form  as  a  musical  art  work,  closely  resembles  the 
gondoliera,  similarly  developed;  for  instance,  in  its 
graceful  six-eight  rhythm,  its  gliding,  swaying  boat- 

237 


238  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

like  movement,  its  suggestions  of  dipping  oar  and 
rippling  water,  and  in  its  sustained  song-like  melody 
which  we  may  easily  consider  as  representing  the 
voice  of  the  boatman. 

These  descriptive  elements  are  common  to  all 
works  of  both  classes,  but  the  characteristic  mood  of 
the  typical  barcarolle  is  less  tender  and  passionate, 
more  cheery  and  fanciful  than  that  of  the  gondoliera. 
It  has  less  of  the  human  element,  more  of  the  sea  and 
its  slumbering  mystery;  less  of  the  lover's  sigh,  and 
more  of  the  half-seen  witchery  of  sea-sprites  and 
mermaids  in  the  clear  depths  of  inverted  sky  beneath. 
To  appreciate  this  mood  to  the  full,  one  must  have 
drifted,  with  suspended  oars,  in  a  small  boat,  upon 
the  far-famed  bay  of  Naples,  just  as  evening  fell,  with 
the  lofty  banner  of  blue-black  smoke  waving  majes- 
tically above  the  summit  of  Vesuvius,  in  the  distance, 
like  the  pennon  of  some  mighty  earth  giant,  an  ominous 
reminder  of  his  terrible,  through  slumbrous,  power; 
with  the  city  rising  in  the  backgroimd,  terrace  on 
terrace,  from  the  water's  edge  to  the  stem  old  ducal 
castle,  which  crowns  the  height  and  looms  dark  and 
forbiddingly  against  the  sky,  a  memory  in  stone, 
with  the  fairy  island  of  Capri  lying  to  seaward  and 
the  cool  breath  of  the  Mediterranean  filling  the  sails 
of  the  countless  fishing-boats  gliding  shoreward,  while 
the  boatmen  sing  to  the  subdued  accompaniment  of 
the  evening  chimes  softened  by  distance.  Seen  at 
midday  from  the  height,  under  the  glare  and  scorch  of 
the  noonday  sun,  with  the  discordant,  jangling  sounds 
of  busy  life  rising  harshly  to  one,  like  the  cries  from 
some  pit  of  torment,  Naples  seems  a  hell;  but  at  the 


Rubinstein :  Barcarolle,  in  G  Major     239 

evening  hour,  viewed  from  the  bay,  it  is  a  veritable 
dream  of  heaven. 

No  one  has  caught  and  embodied  in  music  the 
mood  and  scene  of  this  hour,  with  its  caressing  cool- 
ness, its  murmuring  ripples,  whispering  secrets  of 
other  days,  like  Rubinstein,  though  many  have 
attempted  it  with  more  or  less  success.  Of  his  five 
barcarolles,  all  beautiful  and  characteristic,  the  mosi 
faultlessly  typical  seems  to  me  the  one  in  G  major 
which  I  have  selected  for  special  mention. 

This  is  not  only  one  of  the  most  graceful  and  char 
acteristic,  as  well  as  most  perfect  in  form  and  finish, 
but  also  decidedly  the  most  realistic  of  the  five.  The 
rh3^thmic  play  of  the  oars,  the  undulating  movement 
of  the  boat,  and  the  constant  plash  of  the  water,  are  all 
vividly  suggested,  and  the  melody  of  the  boatman's 
song,  original  with  Rubinstein,  is  very  appropriate 
and  typical,  heard  in  intermittent  fragments  as  if  sung 
fitfully  in  broken  snatches.  The  chords  accompanying 
the  melody  should  be  given  lightly,  though  in  nearly 
strict  time,  in  regular,  rhythmic  pulsations,  but  with  a 
broken  arpeggio  effect,  that  may  well  coincide  with 
the  representation  of  rippling  water,  which  idea  is 
to  be  kept  in  mind. 

The  passages  in  double-thirds,  which  form  the  prin- 
cipal difficulty  of  the  work,  must  be  rendered  with  the 
utmost  smoothness  and  delicacy.  It  is  a  good  plan  to 
begin  each  passage  with  a  very  low  and  extremely 
loose  wrist,  raising  it  gradually  till  quite  high  toward 
the  middle  of  the  run  and  then  lowering  it  as  gradually 
and  easily  to  the  end.  This  insures  absolute  flexibility 
and  enhances  the  undulating  effect.     The  following 


240  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

little  verses,  by  T.  Buchanan  Read,  express  exactly  in 
words  the  mood  of  this  barcarolle,  and  I  never  play  it 
without  thinking  of  them: 

"  My  soul  to-day 

Is  far  away, 
Adrift  upon  the  Vesuvian  bay. 

My  winged  boat, 

A  bird  afloat. 
Glides  by  the  purple  peaks  remote. 

Across  the  rail 

My  hand  I  trail 
Within  the  shadow  of  the  sail. 

With  bliss  intense 

The  cooling  sense 
Glidas  down  my  drowsy  indolence.** 


Rubinstein  t   Kamennoi-Ostrow, 
No.  2  2 


AMENNOI-OSTROW  is  the  name  of 
one  of  a  group  of  islands  situated 
in  the  Neva  River,  some  miles  below 
St.  Petersburg,  "Ostrow"  being  the 
Russian  word  for  island,  and  "Kam- 
ennoi"  the  specific  name  for  this 
particular  island,  signifying  at  once 
small  and  rocky.  This  island  is  a 
favorite  pleasure  resort,  both  winter  and  summer,  for 
the  wealthy  and  aristocratic  classes  of  St.  Petersburg ; 
one  of  the  imperial  palaces  is  situated  upon  it,  besides 
many  cafes,  dance  halls,  summer  and  winter  concert 
gardens,  and  the  like.  In  winter  it  is  the  objective 
point  for  countless  gay  sleighing  parties,  in  which  the 
lavish  Russian  nobles  vie  with  each  other  in  the 
display  of  elaborately  decorated  sledges,  fine  blooded 
horses  in  glittering  harness,  and  piles  of  almost  price- 
less furs.  At  this  time  the  highway  to  and  from  the 
island  is  the  smooth,  solid  ice  of  the  frozen  river.  In 
summer  the  transit  is  made  by  boat,  and  the  gaiety 
is  higher  during  those  gorgeous  summer  nights,  when 
the  midnight  sun,  never  quite  vanishing  below  the 
southern  horizon,  floods  the  scene  with  its  wondrous, 
i6  24X 


242   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

mystical  light,  unlike  either  moonlight  or  the  ordinary 
light  of  day,  but  described  by  enthusiastic  beholders 
as  possessing  a  peculiar,  magical  charm  wholly  its  own 
and  scarcely  to  be  imagined  by  those  who  have  never 
witnessed  it. 

Rubinstein,  who  spent  many  years  of  his  later  life  at 
St.  Petersburg,  was  naturally  a  frequent  visitor  at 
Kamennoi-Ostrow.  In  fact,  on  several  occasions  he 
spent  a  number  of  weeks  consecutively  at  one  of  its 
summer  hotels  and  became  very  familiar  with  all 
phases  of  gaiety  at  this  festive  resort  and  well  ac- 
quainted with  most  of  its  habitues.  His  set  of  twenty - 
four  pieces  for  the  piano,  entitled  "Kamennoi-Ostrow," 
is  a  series  of  tone  sketches  suggested  by  and  represent- 
ing various  scenes  and  personages  which  his  sojourn 
there  brought  within  his  experience.  The  No.  22, 
which  is  probably  the  best  of  the  set  and  certainly 
the  most  widely  known,  is  intended  as  the  musical 
portrait  of  a  lady,  Mademoiselle  Anna  de  Friede- 
bourg,  a  personal  acquaintance  of  Rubinstein,  to 
whom  the  composition  is  dedicated.  It  is  a  portrait 
drawn  in  tender  yet  glowing  tints  against  the  soft 
background  of  the  summer  night,  outlining,  however, 
the  spiritual  rather  than  the  physical  charms  and  char- 
acteristics of  the  lady,  affording  us  a  conception  of  her 
individuality  as  well  as  the  mood  of  the  surroundings. 
The  first  and  principal  subject,  a  slow  and  song-like 
lyric  melody,  enunciated  by  the  left  hand,  with  its 
peculiarly  warm  and  mellow  character,  reminding  one, 
in  color  and  quality,  of  the  tone  of  the  G  string  on 
the  violin,  is  intended  to  suggest  the  personality  of 
the  lady,   or  perhaps,   more  strictly,   the  emotional 


Rubinstein  :  Kamennoi-Ostrow         243 

impression  which  this  personality  produced  upon  the 
composer;  while  the  delicate,  vibratory  accompani- 
ment of  the  right  hand  indicates  the  poetic  setting  or 
background,  the  luminous  midsummer  night,  in  one 
of  those  island  pleasure  gardens,  the  weird  light 
quivering  down  through  tremulous  leaves,  the  mingled 
scent  of  flowers  and  faint  sea-breezes,  the  hum  of 
summer  insects,  and  the  whisper  of  the  reeds  stirred 
by  the  lazily  flowing  river. 

Upon  the  dreamful  hush  of  this  audible  silence 
sounds  clear,  but  sweet  and  silvery,  the  little  bell  of  a 
Greek  Catholic  chapel,  not  far  distant,  calling  to 
midnight  mass  and  ringing  out  at  regular  intervals, 
with  soft  persistency,  through  the  whole  of  the  second 
strain  or  movement.  Below  and  subordinate  to  it  is 
heard  a  curious  series  of  colloquial  phrases  of  melody, 
subdued  and  fitful,  like  the  fragments  of  a  murmured 
conversation,  as  if  a  low  and  interrupted  dialogue  were 
taking  place.  Then  the  full,  rich  chords  of  the  organ 
roll  out  upon  the  quiet  night,  flooding  it  at  once  with 
ample  waves  of  grave,  solemn  harmony.  This  is 
followed  by  a  brief  passage  of  recitative  in  single 
notes,  suggesting  the  voice  of  the  priest  intoning  the 
service  within  the  chapel.  It  is  said  to  be  an  exact 
reproduction,  note  for  note,  of  a  fragment  of  very 
ancient  Hebrew  music,  once  forming  a  part  of  the 
religious  exercises  of  the  Jews  and  long  ago  incor- 
porated into  the  Greek  Catholic  service. 

Then  comes  an  effective,  but  seemingly  irrelevant, 
cadenza  in  double  arpeggios  which,  though  pleasing, 
has  no  apparent  connection  either  with  the  subject  of 
the  mood  of  the  rest  of  the  composition,  but  which 


244  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

serves  indifferently  well  as  a  means  of  leading  back  to 
the  first  theme,  presented  this  time  with  full,  flowing 
accompaniment  in  a  more  impassioned  guise,  as  if  to 
indicate  the  deeper,  more  intensified  emotions  devel- 
oped by  the  romantic  scene  and  poetic  surroundings. 
The  composition  closes  with  a  momentary  return  of 
the  little  conversational  strain,  merely  suggested  and 
only  just  audible  this  time,  like  whispered  words  of 
farewell;  and  then  a  few  quiet  chords  of  the  organ, 
lingering  and  slowly  fading  into  the  silence,  as  a 
pleasant  memory  reluctantly  dissolves  into  slumber. 


1843 


ISi7 


Grieg:  Peer  Gynt  Suite,  Op.  46 


RIEG  is  the  chief  living  exponent  of 
Norwegian  music,  as  Ibsen  is  of  its 
literature.  "Peer  Gynt"  is  a  versi- 
fied drama  by  Henrik  Ibsen,  to  which 
Grieg  has  written  an  orchestral  suite 
of  that  name,  from  which  arrange- 
ments for  piano  have  been  trans- 
cribed, both  for  two  and  four  hands. 
The  scenes,  incidents,  moods,  and  characters  of  Ib- 
sen's drama  are  essentially  Scandinavian;  wild, 
gloomy,  fantastic,  often  vague  and  incoherent  to  the 
reader  of  more  classic  and  polished  literature.  Peer 
Gynt,  the  hero,  is  a  lawless  adventurer,  of  wild  and 
uncouth  personality,  undisciplined  instincts  and  pas- 
sions, and  most  chaotic  career. 

The  various  parts  of  the  Grieg  suite  are  founded 
upon  various  scenes  of  the  drama,  but  the  numbering 
of  the  different  movements  will  mislead  the  player, 
as  the  chronological  progression  of  the  drama  is  not 
always  adhered  to  in  the  music.  The  following  is  the 
order  in  which  the  numbers  should  be  presented  to 
fit  the  scenes  which  they  represent  in  the  life  and 
adventures  of  Peer  Gynt:  (i)  Peer  Gynt  and  Ingrid; 
(2)  Troll  Dance ;  (3)  Death  of  Ase ;  (4)  Arabian  Dance ; 

247 


248  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

(5)  Anitra's  Dance;  (6)  Solveig's  Song;  (7)  Morning; 
(8)  Storm ;  (9)  Cradle  Song,  I  have  included  in  their 
proper  places  two  of  the  songs  of  Solveig,  the  prin- 
cipal heroine  of  the  drama,  which  Grieg  has  also  set 
to  music  and  which  should  be  rendered  by  soprano 
voice. 


I.  Peer  Gynt  and  Ingrld 

This  is  also  called  "Ingrid's  Complaint"  and  "Braut- 
raid),"  or  the  robbery  of  the  bride.  It  is  the  first  of 
the  scenes  in  the  drama  which  Grieg  has  rendered 
into  music,  and  represents  one  of  the  earliest  escapades 
in  the  life  of  the  hero,  when  he  attended  the  rustic 
festivities  of  a  wedding  in  the  neighborhood,  and, 
seized  with  a  sudden  infatuation  for  the  bride,  Ingrid, 
ran  away  with  her  to  the  mountains,  in  the  face  of  the 
assembled  company.  The  first  four  measures,  marked 
"allegro  furioso,"  suggest  the  fiu-ious  movement  and 
delirious  excitement  of  the  flight  and  pursuit,  con- 
trasting ludicrously  with  the  dazed,  helpless  astonish- 
ment of  the  disappointed  bridegroom. 

The  following  protracted  plaintive  minor  strains  em- 
body the  complainings  and  reproaches  of  Ingrid, 
grieving  for  a  life  ruined  and  happiness  destroyed, 
from  which  Peer  suddenly  makes  his  escape,  brutally 
leaving  her  to  her  fate  in  the  hills ;  and  the  first  four 
measures  are  repeated  at  the  close,  to  indicate  that 
the  only  lasting  impression  made  upon  him  by  the 
whole  affair  was  that  of  the  exciting  and  triumphant 
moment  of  his  success. 


Grieg :  Peer  Gynt  Suite  249 

2.  Troll  Dance 

This  is  the  most  graphic  of  all  the  numbers,  and  is 
sometimes  called  "In  the  Hall  of  the  Mountain  King." 
The  troll  seems  to  be  the  Scandinavian  mountain 
spirit,  but  more  of  the  nature  of  gnomes,  kobolds,  and 
goblins  than  of  the  gentle  elves  and  fairies  of  English 
lore.  After  deserting  the  unfortunate  Ingrid  in  the 
forest,  Peer  fled  still  deeper  into  the  rugged  fastnesses, 
where  he  was  surrounded  at  nightfall  by  a  pack  of 
trolls,  who  alternately  teased  and  entertained  him  with 
their  pranks  and  antics,  until  scattered  at  dawn  by 
the  sound  of  church-bells  in  the  distance. 

The  grotesque  character  of  this  movement  admirably 
depicts  the  imcanny  mood  and  nature  of  the  trolls. 
The  opening  measures  are  light  and  weird,  fantas- 
tically suggesting  the  stealthy  footsteps  of  the  gather- 
ing pack  of  trolls,  emerging  on  tiptoe  from  the  mists 
and  shadows  of  the  night,  and  cautiously  surrounding 
their  uninvited  guest.  Little  by  little  the  movement 
becomes  more  impetuous,  as  the  hilarity  and  excite- 
ment increase,  until  toward  the  close  it  grows  to  an 
incoherent  whirl  and  rush,  above  which  ring  out 
sharply  the  gruesome  shrieks  of  the  infuriated  gob- 
lins, balked  of  the  continuance  of  their  vindictive  de- 
light in  tormenting  their  victim,  by  the  approach  of 
dawn. 


3.   Death  of  Ase 

On  returning  to  his  mother's  hut  in  his  native  vil 
lage,  after  these  and  many  other  adventures,  Peer  finds 


250  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

her  on  her  death-bed,  and  remains  with  her  through 
the  night,  during  which  she  passes  away,  enlivening 
her  last  hours  with  the  most  preposterous  tales  and 
pantomimes.  This  scene  of  the  drama,  in  spite  of  its 
solemnity  and  sadness,  carries  the  fantastic  to  the  ex- 
treme verge  of  the  grotesque. 

The  illustrative  music  is  cast  in  the  mold  of  a  "funeral 
march,"  without  trio  and  with  but  one  well-developed 
theme.  In  it  Grieg  has  emphasized  only  the  somber 
and  tragical  aspect  of  the  situation,  ignoring  entirely 
its  touches  of  ghastly  humor.  The  utter  and  crushing 
despair  of  a  wrecked  and  disappointed  life,  of  shattered 
hopes  and  unrequited  and  unappreciated  maternal 
affection,  sobs  through  its  strains,  enhancing  the 
pangs  of  approaching  dissolution.  Its  mood  is  that  of 
unqualified  gloom,  unrelieved  by  a  single  vibration  of 
hope  or  consolation. 

4.   Arabian  Dance 

In  the  interval  which  has  elapsed  since  the  death 
of  Ase,  our  hero,  now  in  the  prime  of  life,  driven  by 
his  erratic  spirit  and  love  of  adventure,  has  landed 
upon  the  coast  of  Africa,  after  being  fairly  hounded 
out  of  his  own  country  by  the  ridicule  and  contempt 
of  his  neighbors.  This  scene  takes  place  in  an  oasis  of 
the  Great  Desert,  where  an  Arab  chief  has  pitched 
his  tent,  and  where  Peer,  mounted  on  a  stolen  white 
charger  and  clad  in  stolen  silk  and  jeweled  robes,  has 
arrived  in  the  r61e  of  the  prophet  to  the  Bedouins.  A 
bevy  of  Arabian  girls  are  dancing  before  him  in  oriental 
costume,  pausing  to  render  homage  at  intervals  to 


Grieg:  Peer  Gynt  Suite  251 

the  supposed  prophet,  who  reclines  among  cushions, 
drinking  coffee  and  smoking  a  long  pipe.  The  music 
begins  with  a  monotonous  rhythmical  figure  in  the  ac- 
companiment, suggesting  the  beat  of  tambom-ines  and 
castanets,  and  the  melody  of  the  opening  strain  is 
weird  rather  than  bright,  stealthily  playful  rather 
than  openly  gay,  rising  soon  to  a  considerable  degree 
of  excited  movement.  The  trio,  with  its  double  melody 
and  its  languorous  warmth  of  cadence,  tells  of  in- 
creasingly involved  figures  in  the  dance  and  a  more 
voluptuous,  seductive  grace  of  motion  among  the 
dancers.  Then  the  opening  strain  is  repeated,  with 
its  clash  of  tambourines,  its  tinkle  of  silver  bangles 
and  anklets,  and  its  mood  of  repressed,  but  jocose, 
humor,  beneath  a  flimsy  veil  of  fictitious  gravity. 


5.   Anitra's  Dance 

Anitra,  the  light-limbed  and  dark-eyed  daughter  of 
the  chief,  has  won  the  especial  favor  of  the  prophet, 
and  dances  alone  before  him  after  her  companions 
have  retired.  Peer  is  enraptured  and  promises  to  make 
her  an  houri  in  paradise,  and  to  give  her  a  soul,  a 
very  little  one,  in  return  for  her  love  and  service.  She 
is  not  much  tempted  by  the  soul,  but  finally  consents 
to  fly  to  the  desert  with  him  for  the  gift  of  the  large 
opal  from  his  turban.  Anitra's  dance  is  more  warmly 
subjective,  more  distinctly  personal  in  character  than 
the  preceding,  at  once  lighter  and  more  rapid,  more 
tender  and  winningly  graceful,  full  of  arch  defiance, 
playful  witcheries,  and  the  coquettish  confidence  of  the 
bigh-born  maiden  and  practised  solo-danseuse,  certain 


252   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

of  her  power  and  bent  on  using  it  to  the  full,  for  the 
complete  subjugation  of  their  prophet  guest.  We  can 
almost  feel  her  smoothly  undulating  movements,  her 
swift,  but  seductive,  changes  of  pose,  and  those  sharp, 
stolen  side-glances,  skilfully  blended  of  shyness  and 
lire,  flashing  from  beneath  her  drooping  black  lashes, 
fascinating,  but  dangerous,  like  lightning  gleams  from 
a  fringe  of  somber  cloud. 

6.  Solveig's  Song 

Solveig,  a  Norwegian  maiden  of  Peer's  own  village, 
the  earliest  and  only  worthy  love  of  his  life,  whom  he 
has  deserted  in  a  spasm  of  virtue,  feeling  himself  unfit 
to  remain  with  her,  sits  spinning  at  the  door  of  a  log 
hut,  in  a  forest  far  up  in  the  North.  She  is  now  a 
middle-aged  woman,  fair  and  comely,  and  as  she  spins 
she  sings  of  her  unfailing  faith  in  Peer's  return,  her 
own  ever-constant  love,  and  her  prayers  to  God  to 
strengthen  and  gladden  her  lover  on  earth  or  in  heaven. 
In  the  music  to  this  song  Grieg  has  admirably  depicted 
the  character  of  Solveig:  beautiful,  tender,  joyous, 
and  full  of  hope.  The  English  translation  of  the  words, 
which  is  but  a  poor  and  inadequate  representation  of 
the  original,  runs  as  follows : 

•'Though  winter  departeth, 

And  fadeth  the  May  ; 
Though  summer,  too,  may  vanish, 

The  year  pass  away  ; 
Yet  thou' It  return,  my  darling, 

For  thou,  love,  art  mine. 
I  gave  thee  my  promise, 

Forever  I  am  thine. 


Grieg :  Peer  Gynt  Suite  253 


"  God  help  thee,  my  darling, 

If  living  art  thou  ; 
God  bless  thee,  O  ray  darling, 

If  dead  thou  art  now. 
I  will  wait  thy  coming 

Till  thou  drawest  near  ; 
Or  tarry  thou  in  heaven, 

Till  I  can  meet  thee,  dear." 


7.   Morning 

This,  the  most  musical  and  sensuously  beautiful 
movement  of  the  whole  suite,  represents  daybreak  in 
Egypt,  with  the  desert  in  the  distance  and  the  great 
pyramids,  with  groups  of  acacias  and  palms  in  the 
foreground,  against  a  rosy  eastern  sky.  Peer  stands 
before  the  statue  of  Memnon  in  the  first  hush  of  the 
dawn,  and  watches  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun  strike 
upon  it,  when,  true  to  the  ancient  tradition,  the  statue 
sings.  Soft  and  mysterious  strains  of  music,  monoto- 
nous and  prolonged,  are  drawn  by  the  sunbeams  from 
the  venerable  stone. 

The  melody  of  this  movement  is  of  extreme  sim- 
plicity and  lyric  beauty,  pure  and  fresh  as  the  dawn. 
Its  cadences  swell  in  power  and  volume  as  the  sun 
rises  higher ;  and  the  full  flood  of  light  is  transmitted 
into  a  full  flood  of  song,  as  the  statue  thrills  and  vi- 
brates with  the  first  kisses  of  the  ardent  Egyptian  sun. 

After  the  climax,  which  is  full  and  joyous,  but  never 
passionate,  the  music  diminishes  and  dies  away  in 
broken  snatches,  as  the  statue,  now  thoroughly  im- 
pregnated with  light  and  warmth,  ceases  to  emit  those 
sounds  with  which  it  has  been  said  to  salute  the  day- 
break for  four  thousand  years. 


2  54  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

8.  Storm 

Peer  Gynt,  now  a  vigorous  old  man,  is  on  board  a 
ship  on  the  North  Sea  off  the  Norwegian  coast,  trying 
to  discern  the  familiar  outline  of  mountains  and  gla- 
ciers through  the  growing  twilight  and  gathering 
storm.  The  wind  rises  to  a  gale;  it  grows  dark;  the 
sea  increases;  the  ship  labors  and  plunges;  breakers 
are  ahead;  the  sails  are  torn  away;  the  ship  strikes 
and  goes  to  pieces,  a  shattered  wreck,  and  the  waves 
swallow  all.  Peer,  true  to  his  nature,  saves  his  life 
and  adds  to  the  list  of  his  sins  by  pushing  a  fellow- 
passenger  from  an  upturned  boat  which  will  not  sup- 
port both,  and  floating  to  shore. 

This,  the  final  instrumental  number  of  the  suite,  is 
by  far  the  most  difficult,  important,  and  pretentious 
of  them  all;  and  whether  regarded  from  a  musical  or 
descriptive  standpoint,  is  unquestionably  the  crown- 
ing effort  of  the  whole  work.  It  portrays  the  mood 
and  the  might  of  the  tempest  with  startling  vividness, 
the  blackness  of  the  storm-racked  clouds,  the  rage  of 
the  wind-lashed  waters,  the  shrieking  of  the  gale 
through  snapping  cordage,  the  almost  human  com- 
plaining of  the  noble  ship,  struggling  hopelessly  with 
her  doom.  In  brief,  the  strength,  the  power,  and  the 
manifold  phantom  voices  of  the  storm  are  simultane- 
ously and  graphically  expressed,  and  the  mood  and 
movement,  both  in  duration  and  completeness  of  de- 
velopment, exceed  those  in  any  of  the  other  numbers. 
At  length,  however,  after  the  catastrophe,  the  force 
of  the  storm  is  broken,  the  fury  of  wind  and  waves 
subsides,  and  the  receding  thunder  clouds  mutter  theif 


Grieg:  Peer  Gynt  Suite  255 

baffled  rage  and  threats  of  deferred  destruction  more 
and  more  faintly  as  they  disappear,  and  the  light  of 
morning  breaks  upon  the  scene.  Then  softly,  like  the 
audible  voice  of  the  sunlight,  comes  an  instrumental 
transcription  of  Solveig's  song  of  love,  previously  sung, 
whose  familiar  strains  symbolically  express  the  idea 
that  her  sleepless  affection,  her  guardian  thoughts  and 
prayers  have  watched  over  her  loved  one  and  brought 
him  at  last  safely  through  danger  and  tempest  to  his 
native  shore.  This  symbolic  use  of  Solveig's  song, 
with  its  suggestive  significance,  is  in  my  opinion  the 
happiest  and  most  poetic  touch  in  the  whole  composi- 
tion. 

9.   Solveig's  Cradle  Song 

Solveig,  the  guardian  angel  of  Peer's  life,  represents 
and  appeals  to  all  that  is  good  in  his  nature.  Her 
influence,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  maddest  escapades, 
has  never  wholly  deserted  him,  and  serves  at  last  as 
the  magnet  to  draw  him  back  to  her  and  home.  The 
last  scene  in  the  drama  represents  Solveig,  now  a 
serene-faced,  silver-haired  old  lady,  stepping  forth  from 
the  door  of  the  forest  hut,  on  her  way  to  church.  Peer, 
who  in  his  chaotic  fashion  has  become  a  prey  to  dis- 
appointment, to  remorse,  and  to  fear  of  death,  appears 
suddenly  before  her,  calling  himself  a  sinner  and  crying 
for  condemnation  from  the  lips  of  the  woman  whom 
he  has  most  sinned  against.  Solveig  sinks  upon  a 
bench  at  the  door  of  the  hut.  Peer  drops  upon  his 
knees  at  her  feet  and  buries  his  face  in  her  lap.  The 
sun  rises  and  the  curtain  falls  as  she  sings  her  lullaby 
song  of  peace  and  happiness,     Grieg  has  set  these  last 


256  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

stanzas  of  the  drama  to  music  under  the  title  of  Sol- 
veig's  Wiegenlied,  or  Cradle  Song.  They  are  trans- 
lated as  follows : 

''  Sleep  thou,  dearest  boy  of  mine  ! 
I  will  cradle  thee,  I  will  watch  thee. 
The  boy  has  been  sitting  on  his  mother's  lap, 
The  two  have  been  playing  all  the  life-day  long. 
The  boy  has  been  resting  at  his  mother's  breast 
All  the  life-day  long.     God's  blessing  on  my  joy. 
The  boy  has  been  lying  close  in  to  my  heart 
All  the  life-day  long.     He  is  weary  now. 
Sleep  thee,  dearest  boy  of  mine  ! 
I  will  cradle  thee,  I  will  watch  thee. 
Sleep  and  dream  thou,  dear  my  boy  !  " 

These  lines  seem  to  indicate  a  transition  from  wifely 
love  to  maternal  love  in  the  affection  of  Solveig,  with 
the  advent  of  age. 

The  moral  of  the  drama,  not  a  very  ethical  one,  but 
one  which  has  possessed  the  minds  of  many  devoted 
women  since  the  world  began,  appears  to  be  that  in 
love  alone  is  salvation.  Whatever  the  errors  and  sins 
and  follies  of  the  man,  he  is  won  at  last  and  saved, 
even  at  the  eleventh  hour,  by  the  faith,  the  hope,  and 
the  love  of  one  devoted  woman. 


Grieg:    An  den  Friihling  (Spring 
Song),  Op.  43,  No.  6 


MONG  the  very  few  strictly  lyric 
compositions  for  the  piano  by  Grieg, 
—a  vein  in  which  he  was  singularly 
unproductive  for  so  eminent  a  gen- 
ius,— this  spring  song  must  unques- 
tionably take  rank  as  the  best,  the 
most  evenly  sustained  throughout, 
the  most  perfect  in  form  and  finish, 
and  decidedly  the  finest  as  well  as  most  emotional  in 
quality. 

The  opening  notes  of  the  right  hand  accompaniment 
fall  light  and  silver}'  as  the  soft  drops  of  the  April 
shower  upon  the  waiting  woods,  when  the  first  faint 
shimmer  of  tender  green  begins  to  tint  the  tips  of  the 
waving  boughs.  Then  the  melody  enters  in  the  left 
hand  with  subdued,  repressed  intensity,  warmly, 
sweetly  vibrant,  like  the  upper  register  of  that  most 
passionate  of  instruments,  the  'cello,  a  melody  telling 
of  mild,  languorous  days  and  soft,  dream-haunted 
nights,  thrilled  through  by  the  mysterious  throbbing  of 
a  new  life  in  the  earth's  long-frozen  veins;  telling  of 
Nature,  surprised  but  radiantly  happy,  awakening  at 
the  touch  of  her  ardent  lover,  the  sudden  spring,  from 
17  257 


258  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

her  ice-locked  sleep,  like  the  slumbering,  frost-fettered 
bride  in  the  old  legend  of  Siegfried  and  Briinnhilde; 
telling  of  summer  joys  and  brightness  begotten  of  their 
union,  of  bird  songs,  sweeter  for  the  long  silence,  of 
many-tinted  flowers  springing  in  fragrant  profusion 
where  the  cold  white  drifts  of  winter  lay  but  yesterday, 
as  if  the  snowflakes  had  all  been  transformed  to  blos- 
soms by  the  magic  kiss  of  the  sun ;  of  love  as  sudden  as 
the  spring,  as  tenderly  sweet  as  its  violets,  strong  as 
its  rushing  torrents,  but  alas!  too  often  as  transient 
as  its  fleeting  glories.  This  sudden,  startling  thought 
of  pain  and  disillusion  strikes  sharply  across  the 
mellow,  golden  current  of  the  stream  with  a  somber 
threatening  note  of  danger  and  distress  rising  to  a 
swift,  strong  climax  of  indignant  protest  or  fierce 
defiance,  a  contrasting  reactionary  mood  common  to 
certain  minds,  like  those,  for  instance,  of  Byron  and 
Heine,  aptly  illustrated  by  the  following  lines,  trans- 
lated from  the  German  of  Amentor: 

"  Sing  not  to  me  of  spring,  its  flowers  and  azure  skies. 
Fleeting  delusions  all  to  cheat  unwary  eyes. 
Talk  not  to  me  of  love,  its  dreams  of  Paradise. 
The  charms  of  spring,  the  joys  of  love,  are  brilliant  lies." 

But  this  dark  mood  is  of  but  brief  duration ;  it  is  soon 
exorcised  by  the  plenitude  of  sunshine  and  the  ex- 
uberance of  springtim«»  happiness,  and  the  first  melody 
returns  with  all  its  glowing  beauty  and  seductive 
sweetness,  and  with  a  fuller,  more  fluent,  voluptuous 
accompaniment,  suggesting  the  mingled  voices  of  many 
streams  exulting  in  their  new  freedom,  or  the  irregular, 
intermittent  sighs  of  May  breezes,  impatient  with  hav- 
ing to  rock  all  the  baby  leaves  at  once. 


Grieg:  An  den  Friihling  259 

This  composition  is  technically  of  only  moderate 
difficulty,  but  requires  for  its  proper  delivery  a  fine 
taste,  great  warmth  of  feeling,  and  a  telling,  sensuous 
quality  of  tone  for  the  melody,  while  the  right  hand 
accompaniment  in  the  first  movement  is  kept  almost 
infinitely  light  and  delicate.  The  sudden  biu-st  of 
passionate  pain  and  resentment  in  the  climax  should 
be  given  with  extreme  intensity  and  a  decided  accelera- 
tion of  tempo,  as  well  as  increase  in  power;  followed 
by  an  abrupt  fall  to  a  caressing  pianissimo,  and  a  long 
lingering  hold  on  the  final  chord  just  preceding  the 
return  of  the  first  melody,  to  accentuate  the  renewal 
of  the  softer,  sunnier  mood. 


Grieg:   Voglein  (Little   Birds),  Op. 
43,  No.  4 


CHARMING  and  effective  supplemen 
tary  companion  piece  to  the  spring 
song  is  that  exquisitely,  daintily  fan- 
ciful, yet  exceedingly  brief  piece 
of  descriptive  tone  painting,  called 
"The  Little  Birds,"  published  in 
the  same  volume  of  lyrics  with  the 
preceding  number.  It  may  be 
played  as  an  added  and  appropriate  coda  to  the 
spring  song.  It  is  one  of  those  graphically  realistic 
productions  which  tell  their  own  story.  It  portrays 
ver}-  literally,  by  more  than  suggestive  imitation,  the 
blithe  twitter  of  the  spring  birds  fluttering  amid  the 
dancing  leaves  and  sunlight,  engaged  in  their  de- 
lightful occupation  of  nest-building.  Notice,  too,  the 
sudden  touch  of  facetious  drollery,  so  characteristic 
of  Grieg,  where  the  delicate  little  bird  motive  is  ab- 
ruptly transferred  to  the  bass  register,  producing  a 
peculiarly  comical,  grotesque  effect,  reminding  one 
of  the  gutteral  hilarity  of  the  spring-awakened  frogs 
in  some  neighboring  pool. 

Exceeding  lightness  and  delicacy,  combined  with  a 
certain  playful  staccato  effect,  are  the  chief  technical 
requisites  for  the  correct  performance  of  this  work, 
which,  though  small,  will  well  repay  careful  study. 
The  tone  produced  should  be  crisp  and  bright,  though 
never  rising  above  piano,  and  the  tempo  not  exceed- 
ingly rapid. 

260 


Grieg:  Berceuse,  Op.  38,  No.  i 


NE  of  Grieg's  most  charming  lyrics 
is  this  thoroughly  unique  and  char- 
acteristic Cradle  Song.  This  has 
always  been  a  most  attractive  and 
facilely  treated  subject  for  piano- 
compositions,  on  account  of  the 
way  in  which  it  lends  itself  to  real- 
istic handling. 
The  general  plan  of  these  compositions  is  always 
substantially  the  same:  a  simple,  swinging  accom- 
paniment in  the  left  hand,  symbolizing  the  rocking 
cradle,  and  a  soft,  soothing  melody  in  the  right,  more 
or  less  elaborately  ornamented,  suggesting  the  song 
of  the  nurse  or  mother  lulling  the  child  to  rest. 

An  almost  infinite  variety  of  effect  is  possible,  how- 
ever, within  these  seemingly  narrow  limits,  depend- 
ent upon  the  differing  ability  and  personality  of  the 
composer,  the  diversity  in  melodic  and  harmonic  color- 
ing, and  especially  upon  the  environment  and  con- 
ditions conceived  of  by  the  writer  as  the  setting  or 
background  of  the  pictvire.  The  range  of  legitimate 
suggestion  in  this  regard  by  means  of  such  works  is 
as  broad  as  that  of  human  experience  itself.  For  in- 
stance, the  child  imagined  may  be  the  idolized  prince 

261 


262  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

of  a  royal  line,  rocked  in  a  golden  cradle  with  a  jeweled 
crown  embossed  upon  its  satin  canopy,  and  guarded 
by  the  loyalty,  the  hopes  and  pride  of  a  mighty  nation ; 
or  it  may  be  the  sickly  offspring  of  want  and  suffering, 
doomed  from  its  birth  to  sorrow  and  struggle  and 
disappointment,  to  a  crown  of  toil  and  a  heritage  of 
tears ;  or  perhaps  it  may  be  a  fairy  changeling,  stolen 
by  Titania  in  some  wayward  caprice,  rocked  to  sleep 
in  a  lily-cup  upon  crystal  waves,  or  watching,  with 
large,  wondering  human  eyes,  the  pranks  of  the  forest 
elves  as  they  trace  with  swiftly  circling  feet  their 
magic  rings  upon  the  moss,  or  awaken  the  morning- 
glories  upon  the  lawn  with  a  shower-bath  of  dew. 

The  lullaby  song  of  the  mother  may  thrill  with  the 
sweet  content  and  raptiu-ous  joy  of  a  life  of  love  and 
brightness  but  just  begun,  and  seemingly  endless  in 
its  forward  vista  of  ever  new  and  ever  glad  surprises. 
Her  fancies  may  be  winged  by  hope  and  happiness  to 
airy  flights  in  which  no  sky -piercing  height  seems  im- 
possible; or  her  voice  may  vibrate  with  the  songs  of 
a  broken-hearted  widow,  who  guards  the  little  sleeper 
in  an  agony  of  loving  fear,  as  the  last  treasiu-e  saved 
from  the  wreck  of  her  world.  As  the  smallest  plot  of 
garden  ground  possesses  the  capacity  to  receive  and 
develop  the  germs  of  the  most  diverse  forms  of  vegeta- 
tion, from  the  violet  to  the  oak,  from  the  fragrant 
rose  to  the  deadly  poppy,  so  these  modest  little  mu- 
sical forms  are  replete  with  an  almost  boundless  po- 
tentiality of  suggestion. 

In  the  case  of  this  particular  work  by  Grieg,  the 
child  portrayed  is  no  delicate  rose-tinted  girl-baby, 
downily  cushioned  upon  silken  pillows,  peeping  timidly 


Grieg :  Berceuse  263 

from  a  drift  of  dainty  laces  like  the  first  crocuses  from 
the  feathery  snow  of  April,  but  the  lusty  son  of  a 
Viking  stock,  with  the  blood  of  a  sturdy  race  of  fighters 
coursing  red  through  his  veins,  and  with  a  will  and 
a  voice  of  his  own,  cradled  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  a 
pine  or  the  hide-lashed  blade-bones  of  the  elk,  wrapped 
in  the  skin  of  wolf  or  bear,  and  lulled  to  sleep  by  the 
rough,  but  kindly,  crooning  of  a  peasant  nurse.  May 
we  not  fancy  the  refrain  of  her  song  somewhat  after 
the  fashion  of  the  following  lines? 

"  Oh,  hush  thee,  my  baby  ; 

The  time  will  soon  come 
When  thy  rest  will  be  broken 

By  trumpet  and  drum, 
When  the  bows  will  be  bent. 

The  blades  will  be  red. 
And  the  beacon  of  battle 

Will  blaze  overhead. 
Then  hush  thee,  my  baby, 

Take  rest  while  you  may, 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood 

As  waking  with  day." 


Grieg:  The  Bridal  Procession,  from 
"Aus  dem  Volksleben."      Op. 


19: 


No.  2 


p^ 

|B 

NE  of  the  best  known  and  most 
popular  of  Grieg's  compositions  is 
the  second  movement  of  his  piano 
suite  entitled  "Ausdem  Volksleben" 
(sketches  of  Norwegian  country 
life),  a  work  which  portrays,  with 
all  his  graphic  power  and  good- 
natured  humor,  a  number  of  unique 
and  characteristic  phases  of  the  peasant  life  in  Nor- 
way. This  second  movement,  at  once  the  easiest 
and  most  pleasing  number  of  the  suite,  is  intended 
as  a  realistic  representation  of  the  music  of  a  primitive 
peasant  band,  which  leads  a  rural  bridal  procession, 
made  up  of  Norwegian  countrypeople,  on  its  way  to 
the  chm^ch. 

We  may  fancy  ourselves  seated  on  a  bank  by  the 
roadside,  with  a  jolly  company  of  villagers  in  pictur- 
esque holiday  costume,  listening  to  their  jests  and 
gaiety  as  we  await  the  rustic  pageant.  Soon  our  at- 
tention is  caught  by  the  sound  of  distant  music,  gradu- 
ally approaching,  strange,  weird,  tmcanny  music,  as 

264 


Grieg:  The  Bridal  Procession  265 

if  the  gnomes  and  trolls  had  left  their  work  in  the  secret 
mines  and  caverns  of  the  momitains,  where  they  are 
ever  forging  new  chains  for  the  fettered  earth-giants 
as  their  prisoned  strength  increases,  and  had  turned 
musicians  for  a  frolic  and  come  forth  into  the  light 
of  day  to  join  the  festival.  The  rhythmic  beat  of 
drums  and  cymbals,  the  shrill,  strident  notes  of  the 
fife,  the  quaint,  quavering  tones  of  the  pipe  and  clari- 
net, mingle  in  a  strain  jocosely  mirthful,  rather  than 
truly  gay,  and  becoming  more  insistent  as  it  advances. 
There  is  no  trace  of  tenderness,  no  hint  of  sweet 
anticipation,  no  suggestive  undertone  of  sacred  solem- 
nity, in  this  music.  We  miss  the  warm  color  and 
tremulous,  sustained  effects  of  the  violins,  which  with 
us  are  always  symbolic  of  love.  It  seems  almost  Hke 
a  musical  satire  on  the  tender  passion ;  as  if  the  divine 
but  dethroned  Balder  (the  God  of  Love  in  Norse 
mythology),  disgusted  by  the  infidelity  and  ingrati- 
tude of  mankind,  were  employing  all  his  wondrous 
power  as  a  minstrel  to  depreciate  and  deride  this  his 
best  gift  to  humanity.  But  perhaps  we  do  not  rightly 
appreciate  the  significance  of  the  music.  As  it  draws 
nearer  and  nearer,  growing  stronger  with  every  mo- 
ment, we  begin  to  suspect  that  perhaps  its  very  rude- 
ness and  primitive  energy  express  more  truthfully 
than  more  delicate,  dreamy,  finely  shaded  cadences 
could  do,  the  idea  that  human  love  is  one  of  the  ele- 
mental forces  of  nature,  underlying  and  antedating 
all  the  subtilizing  refinements  of  civilization,  and  des- 
tined to  outlast  them,  as  the  rugged  granite  of  the 
northern  mountains  antedates  and  will  outlast  all  the 
crystal  palaces  of  taste  and  luxury. 


266  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

On  comes  the  procession,  the  music  swelling  and 
growing  with  every  step,  till  as  it  passes  immediately 
before  us  it  becomes  an  almost  deafening  crash  of  dis- 
sonant instruments,  each  player  with  lusty  good-will 
doing  his  utmost  to  honor  the  occasion,  outvie  his 
comrades,  and  earn  his  share  in  the  wedding  feast, 
by  making  his  part  most  prominent  in  the  general  din. 
First  comes  the  band,  then  the  bride  and  groom  and 
the  bridesmaids  in  white,  with  wands  and  wreaths,  a 
troop  of  children  with  baskets  of  flowers,  then  a  com- 
pany of  the  immediate  friends  and  relatives  of  the 
bridal  pair,  with  the  older  neighbors  and  acquaint- 
ances soberly  bringing  up  the  rear.  So  they  defile 
before  us,  and  pass  on  their  way  down  the  sunlit  coun- 
try road  to  the  church,  the  music  gradually  diminishing 
as  it  recedes  into  the  distance,  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  till  only  occasional  shriller  notes  or  louder  frag- 
ments reach  us,  and  at  last  even  these  are  sunk  in  the 
summer  silence. 

This  movement  is  in  march  time  and  form,  and  the 
strict,  unvarying  march  rhythm  should  be  preserved 
throughout,  absolutely  without  variation.  The  tone 
should  be  crisp  and  clear,  with  but  little  singing  qual- 
ity, to  represent  that  of  wooden  wind  instruments, 
but  varying  in  degree  from  the  softest  possible  pp  to 
the  most  tremendous  ///  which  the  performer  is  cap- 
able of  producing.  The  player  is  here  afforded  an  op- 
portunity of  testing  his  powers  in  that  most  difficult 
of  all  elements  in  pianism — a  long-sustained,  evenly- 
graded  crescendo  and  diminuendo.  To  produce  its 
true  realistic  efifect,  the  music  should  emerge  almost 
imperceptibly   out  of  silence,   increase  steadily,   but 


Grieg:  The  Bridal  Procession  267 

by  infinitesimal  degrees,  to  the  greatest  quantity  of 
tone  power  which  the  instrument  will  produce;  then 
diminish  as  gradually  and  steadily  till  it  dissolves 
into  silence  again  at  the  close ;  not  stopping  at  a  given 
point,  but  simply  ceasing  to  sound.  Those  who  have 
heard  Rubinstein  render  the  Turkish  march  from 
"The  Ruins  of  Athens"  will  remember  it  as  a  masterly 
model  for  this  effect. 


1135 


Saint-Saens:   Le   Rouet   d'Omphale 


AINT-SAENS,  though  himself  a  first- 
rate  concert  pianist  and  the  com- 
poser of  some  excellent  things  for 
the  piano,  notably  in  concerto  form, 
is,  nevertheless,  chiefly  gifted  and 
principally  celebrated  as  a  writer  for 
orchestra,  having  done  his  best, 
most  original,  and  most  interesting 
work  in  this  line.  Among  his  many  important  com- 
positions for  full  orchestra,  there  are  perhaps  none 
which  better  represent  his  individuality  and  peculiar 
style  than  his  four  "Symphonic  Poems,"  of  which  two 
have  been  selected  for  illustration  here.  This  form  of 
composition,  as  well  as  its  name,  originated  with  Franz 
Liszt,  whose  twelve  "Symphonic  Poems"  are  his 
most  important  contributions  to  orchestra  literature. 
In  musical  structure  the  symphonic  poem  corresponds 
to  the  modern  overture  and  to  the  pianoforte  ballade, 
as  exemplified  by  Chopin,  much  more  nearly  than 
to  the  symphony  proper.  It  consists  of  a  single  move- 
ment, without  different  divisions  and  pronounced  dif- 
ferentiated parts,  such  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  regu- 
lation symphony,  though  it  often  expresses  a  wide 

271 


272   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

variety  of  moods,  merging  into  one  another  without 
pause  or  interruption. 

Its  only  radical  point  of  similarity  to  the  sym- 
phony lies  in  the  fact  that  its  first  principal  theme  is 
subjected  to  an  elaborate  and  logical  development  in 
most  cases,  as  in  the  symphonic  allegro.  It  is  dis- 
tinctly an  outgrowth  of  modern  romanticism  and  deals 
always  with  the  somewhat  definite  poetic  thought,  or 
some  real  or  imaginary  episode  from  life.  It  is,  in 
fact,  program  music  of  the  most  pronounced  and 
uncompromising  type,  and  the  special  thought  or 
episode  is  always  indicated  by  its  descriptive  title. 

The  four  Symphonic  Poems  of  Saint-Saens  are:  (i) 
Le  Rouet  d'Omphale;  (2)  Phaeton;  (3)  Danse  Maca- 
bre; (4)  La  Jeunesse  d'Hercule. 

I  have  selected  for  consideration  here  the  first  and 
third,  entitled  respectively  the  "Rouet  d'Omphale" 
and  the  "Danse  Macabre";  the  one  descriptive  of  a 
classic,  the  other  of  a  medieval  scene  and  tradition. 

The  first,  the  "Wheel  of  Omphale,"  was  suggested 
by  the  Greek  myth  of  Hercules  and  Omphale.  The 
story  of  the  pair  is  familiar  to  all  readers  of  classic 
mythology,  and  represents  perhaps  the  most  singular 
episode  in  the  checkered  career  of  this  hero  and  demi- 
god. The  legend  runs  as  follows:  Hercules,  having 
killed  his  friend  Iphitus  in  a  fit  of  madness,  to  which 
he  was  occasionally  subject,  fell  a  prey  to  a  severe 
malady,  sent  upon  him  by  the  gods  in  punishment 
for  this  murder.  He  consulted  the  Delphic  oracle 
with  a  view  to  learning  the  means  of  escaping  from  this 
disease.  He  was  informed  by  the  oracle  that  he  could 
only  be  cured  by  allowing  himself  to  be  sold  as  a  slave 


Saint-Saens :    Le  Rouet  d'Omphale      273 

for  three  years,  and  giving  the  purchase  money  to  the 
father  of  Iphitus  as  recompense  for  the  loss  of  his  son. 
Accordingly  Hercules  was  sold  by  Mercury  as  a  slave 
to  Omphale,  the  Queen  of  Lydia,  then  reigning  in  that 
country,  who  had  long  been  desirous  to  see  this  strong- 
est of  men  and  greatest  hero  of  his  age.  He  remained 
with  her  the  allotted  three  years,  and  during  this  period 
of  slavery,  by  the  wish  of  the  queen,  the  warrior-hero 
assumed  female  attire  and  sat  spinning  among  the 
women,  where  his  royal  mistress  often  chastised  him 
with  her  sandal  for  his  awkward  manner  of  holding  the 
distaff,  while  she  paraded  in  his  lion's  skin,  armed  with 
his  famous  war-club.  But  if  awkward  at  the  distaff 
this  son  of  Jupiter  understood  other  arts  which  he 
practised  upon  the  Lydian  queen;  for  in  the  intervals 
of  spinning  he  made  love  to  her  so  successfully  that 
from  their  union  sprang  the  race  of  Croesus,  famous 
in  antiquity.  Some  authorities  regard  this  legend  of 
Hercules  and  Omphale  as  of  astronomical  significance, 
while  others  give  it  a  moral  interpretation,  saying  it 
illustrates  how  even  the  strongest  and  bravest  of  men 
is  demeaned  and  belittled  when  subjugated  by  a 
woman. 

The  music  opens  with  a  playfully  realistic  introduc- 
tion, consisting  of  a  series  of  light,  rapid-running 
figures  and  graceful  embellishm'iits,  imitatively  sug- 
gesting the  roll  and  buzz  of  the  spinning-wheels.  A 
series  of  delicate  turns,  each  an  audible  circle,  add  their 
quota  of  pertinent  symbolism  to  the  general  effect. 
Soon  the  melody  enters,  joyous,  musical,  yet  with 
a  certain  arch  mockery,  enhanced  by  its  odd.  piquant 
rhythm.  It  is  the  sonjr  of  the  spinning  maidens, 
18 


2  74  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

cheerfully  speeding  their  hours  of  toil  with  music  and 
mirth,  with  occasional  irrepressible  touches  of  gay 
raillery  at  the  expense  of  the  clumsy  captive  warrior, 
whose  long  face  and  futile  attempts  at  their  handicraft 
a£ford  them  vast  amusement.  Now  and  then  a  dis- 
tinct burst  of  silvery  laughter  is  heard  above  the  boom 
of  the  wheels,  interrupting  the  strain.  Omphale,  too, 
is  there,  admonishing,  chiding,  ridiculing  the  hero,  as 
he  moodily  pursues  his  unwonted  and  unwilling  task 
with  many  a  blunder  and  comical  mistake ;  yet  we  can 
fancy  a  half-tender  smile  softening  her  reprimands 
and  sweetening  her  playful  chastisements. 

Then  with  a  radical  change  of  mood  and  movement 
comes  the  second  important  theme,  a  broad,  impres- 
sive, strikingly  original  melody  in  the  bass,  half 
gloomy,  half  indignant,  the  mighty  manly  voice  of 
Hercules,  uplifted  in  grave  lament  and  dignified  pro- 
test, deploring  his  hard  lot,  defying  its  humiliations, 
reproaching  his  gay  tormentors,  rebelling  at  his  menial 
duties  and  unworthy  surroundings,  yet  with  a  stern, 
proud  gravity,  a  grand  fortitude  which  scorns  alike 
weak  complainings  and  impotent  petulance.  It  sub- 
sides at  last  into  philosophic  resignation  and  sorrowful 
self-repression,  as  if  consoled  by  the  thought  that  his 
punishment  is  after  all  just  and  his  submission  volun- 
tary. 

Then  the  spinning  movement  is  resumed  and  the 
first  song  virtually  repeated,  though  in  a  materially 
modified  rhythm;  and  the  work  ends  playfully,  as  it 
begins,  with  a  wonderfully  realistic  imitation  of  the 
gradual  stopping  of  the  wheels,  as  their  momentum 
exhausts  itself  and  little  by  little  their  speed  slackens 


Saint-Saens :    Le  Rouet  d'Omphale      275 

and  they  finally  come  to  a  complete  rest  when  aban- 
doned by  the  girls,  as  sunset  ends  the  day's  work. 

This  composition  is  one  of  Saint-Saens'  most  genial 
and  melodious  productions,  as  well  as  an  excellent  piece 
of  descriptive  work.  It  may  be  rendered  on  the  piano 
either  in  the  four-hand  arrangement  by  Guiraud,  or  as 
transcribed  for  two  hands  by  the  composer  himself. 
It  is  about  equally  feasible  and  effective  in  either  of 
these  forms. 


Saint-Saens:    Danse  Macabre 


') 

)' 

1^ 

9^ 

1 

i 

Cot 

OR  the  significance  of  the  French 
word  macabre  we  must  turn  to  the 
Arabic  makabir,  signifying  a  burial 
place  or  cemetery.  The  "Danse 
Macabre,"  therefore,  is  simply  a 
"cemetery  dance"  or  "Dance  of 
Death." 

One  of  the  most  prevalent  super- 
stitions during  the  middle  ages  throughout  Europe,  and 
especially  France,  was  that  of  the  "Danse  Macabre," — 
a  belief  that  once  a  year,  on  Hallowe'en,  the  dead  of  the 
churchyards  rose  for  one  wild,  hideous  carnival,  one 
bacchanalian  revel,  in  which  old  King  Death  acted  as 
master  of  ceremonies.  This  gruesome  idea  appears 
frequently  in  the  literature  of  the  period,  and  also  in 
its  painting,  particularly  in  church  decoration,  and  a 
more  or  less  graphic  portrayal  of  the  ' '  Danse  Macabre  " 
may  still  be  seen  on  the  walls  of  some  old  cathedrals 
and  monasteries. 

This  composition,  belonging  as  it  does  to  the  ultra- 
realistic  French  school  of  the  present  day,  is  a  vivid 
tone  picture  of  the  same  "Danse  Macabre."  At  the 
head  of  the  original  composition,  serving  as  motto  and 
undoubtedly  as  direct  inspiration  for  the  music,  stands 

276 


Saint-Saens:  Danse  Macabre  277 

a  curious  ancient  French  poem  in  well-nigh  obsolete 
fourteenth  century  idiom.  I  have  made  a  free  transla- 
tion of  these  verses  into  English,  as  follows: 

On  a  sounding  stone. 

With  a  blanched  thigh-bone, 

The  bone  of  a  saint,  I  fear, 

Death  strikes  the  hour 

Of  his  wizard  power. 

And  the  specters  haste  to  appear. 

From  their  tombs  they  rise 

In  sepulchral  guise, 

Obeying  the  summons  dread, 

And  gathering  round 

With  obeisance  profound, 

They  salute  the  King  of  the  Dead. 

Then  he  stands  in  the  middle 

And  tunes  up  his  fiddle, 

And  plays  them  a  gruesome  strain. 

And  each  gibbering  wight 

In  the  moon's  pale  light 

Must  dance  to  that  wild  refrain. 

Now  the  fiddle  tells, 

As  the  music  swells. 

Of  the  chamel's  ghastly  pleasures; 

And  they  clatter  their  bones 

As  with  hideous  groans 

They  reel  to  those  maddening  measures. 

The  churchyard  quakes 

And  the  old  abbey  shakes 

To  the  tread  of  that  midnight  host. 

And  the  sod  turns  black 

On  each  circling  track, 

Where  a  skeleton  whirls  with  m  ghoct. 


278  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

The  night  wind  moans 

In  shuddering  tones 

Through  the  gloom  of  the  cypress  tree. 

While  the  mad  rout  raves 

Over  yawning  graves 

And  the  fiddle  bow  leaps  with  glee. 

So  the  swift  hours  fly 
Till  the  reddening  sky 
Gives  warning  of  daylight  near. 
Then  the  first  cock  crow 
Sends  them  huddling  below 
To  sleep  for  another  year. 

The  composition  opens  with  twelve  weird  strokes 
indicating  the  arrival  of  midnight,  struck  out  upon  a 
vibrant  tombstone  by  the  impatient  hand  of  Death 
himself.  There  follows  a  light,  staccato  passage,  sug- 
gesting the  moment  when,  in  obedience  to  this  awe- 
some signal,  the  specters  appear  from  their  graves 
and  come  tiptoeing  forward  to  take  their  places  in  the 
fantastic  circle.  Then  comes  a  strikingly  realistic 
passage  where  Death  attempts  to  tune  up  his  fiddle, 
as  he  is  to  furnish  the  music  for  the  dance.  It  has 
been  lying  disused  since  the  last  annual  festival,  is 
very  much  out  of  tune,  and  refuses  to  come  up  to 
pitch.  In  spite  of  his  best  endeavors,  the  E  string 
obstinately  remains  at  E  flat.  The  repetition  of  this 
passage  at  intervals  throughout  the  composition  sug- 
gests occasional  hasty  and  ill-timed  efforts  to  tune  up. 

Now  comes  the  first  theme  of  the  dance  itself,  light, 
fantastic,  suggestive  of  purely  physical  excitement 
and  ghastly  pleasure,  and  graphically  representing 
the  imagery  of  the  corresponding  verse  of  the  poem. 

The  second  theme  is  slower,  heavier,  more  gloomily 


Saint-Saens  :  Danse  Macabre  279 

impressive,  with  its  weird  minor  harmonies  and  its 
strongly  marked  rhythms,  suggesting  the  darkness 
and  terror  of  that  midnight  scene,  the  gruesome 
gravity  of  old  King  Death,  as  master  of  ceremonies, 
and  the  increasingly  ponderous  tread  of  that  ghostly 
multitude,  to  which  the  gray  walls  of  the  abbey  and 
the  very  ground  itself  seem  to  reel  in  unison.  This  is 
the  moment  when  "the  sod  turns  black  where  each 
skeleton  whirls  with  a  ghost." 

Death  again  attempts  to  tune  up  his  fiddle,  with 
frenzied  haste,  and  the  dance  grows  in  speed  and 
impetuous  power.  Later  it  is  interrupted  by  a  lyric 
intermezzo,  brief  but  pathetically  sweet.  It  seems 
to  be  a  plaintive  lament  played  in  a  momentary  pause 
of  the  dancing,  expressing  the  sad  memories  and  hope- 
less longings  of  the  dancers,  the  real  mood  which  under- 
lies the  forced  gaiety  of  this  wild  revel.  It  is  appro- 
priately accompanied  by  the  -^lian-like  effect  of  the 
night  wind  sighing  among  the  cypress  boughs.  An 
onward  rush  follows,  more  furiously  impetuous  than 
before,  for  just  as  in  the  small  hours  the  boisterous 
and  frenzied  merriment  of  the  witches  in  "Walpurgis 
Night"  grew  apace,  so  does  this  skeleton  dance  gradu- 
ally reach  an  almost  demoniac  climax  of  hilarity,  as 
all  unite  in  a  grand  finale,  a  thunderous  whirl  of 
hideous  merriment.  Here  the  first  and  second  dance 
themes  are  very  ingeniously  woven  together,  appear- 
ing simultaneously  in  a  piece  of  most  grotesque  but 
effective  counterpoint. 

Then  comes  a  sudden  hush,  in  which  the  distant 
crow  of  the  morning  cock  is  distinctly  heard,  a  signal 
that  daylight  is  approaching  and  the  revel  must  end. 


28o  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

With  a  wild  hurry  and  scurry  the  specters  betake 
themselves  to  their  graves  once  more,  a  final  lugubrious 
wail  from  the  fiddle  closing  the  composition,  as  Death 
is  the  last  to  leave  the  field. 


Counterparts  among  Poets  and 
Musicians 


iM9S^^9>S!^!S£>S^^ 

1 

HOSE  who  have  had  sufficient  inter- 
est to  read  any  considerable  number 
of  the  foregoing  chapters  cannot 
have  failed  to  perceive  that,  to  the 
mind  of  the  author,  the  sister  arts, 
music  and  poetry,  sustain  to  each 
other  an  even  closer,  more  vitally 
intimate  relation  than  the  family 
connection  generally  conceded  to  them. 

It  is  a  kinship  of  soul  and  sympathy,  as  well  as  of 
race — a  similarity  of  aim  and  influence  upon  humanity ; 
a  similarity,  even  in  the  kind  of  effect  produced,  and 
the  means  employed  to  produce  it,  which  renders 
them  largely  interdependent  and  reciprocally  helpful. 
The  purpose  of  both  is  expression,  chiefly  emotional  ex- 
pression, descriptions  of  nature  and  references  to 
natural  phenomena  being  introduced  merely  as  acces- 
sories, as  background  or  setting  for  the  human  life 
and  interest,  which  are  of  primary  importance.  Both 
express  their  meaning,  not  through  imitated  sounds 
or  forms  borrowed  from  the  physical  world,  but  by 
means  of  audible  symbols  devised  by  man  for  this 
express  ptu-pose,  which  have  come  by  long  usage  and 

281 


282   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

general  acceptance  to  have  a  definite  significance,  but 
require  a  certain  degree  of  education  to  comprehend 
them,  and  which  are  therefore  more  intellectual,  more 
adapted  to  the  expression  of  the  subtler  phases  of  life, 
and  more  purely  human  in  their  origin,  than  the 
media  of  form  and  color  employed  in  the  plastic  arts. 

True,  the  one  uses  tones,  the  other  words,  as  its 
material;  but  the  difference  is  by  no  means  so  radical 
as  at  first  appears.  Both  exist  in  time,  while  all  other 
arts  have  to  do  with  space  and  substance.  Both 
have  but  one  dimension,  so  to  speak, — namely,  diu-a- 
tion, — and  owe  whatever  of  the  beauty  of  form  and 
proportion  they  possess  to  a  symmetrical  subdivision 
of  this  given  dm^ation  into  correspondent  parts  or 
sections,  by  means  of  accents,  brief  pauses,  and 
rhymes  or  cadences.  Both  may  successfully  treat  a 
progressive  series  of  moods  or  scenes,  of  var>'ing  char- 
acter, and  fluctuating  intensity,  which  is  not  possible 
in  the  plastic  arts,  limited  as  they  all  are  to  the  por- 
trayal of  a  single  situation,  a  single  instant  of  time, 
a  single  fixed  conception.  Both,  again,  possess  a 
certain  warmth  and  inherent  pulsing  life,  which  is 
their  common,  dominant  characteristic,  due  to  the 
heart-throb  of  rhythm,  which  is  lacking  in  all  other 
arts. 

Even  in  the  media  they  employ,  there  is  a  strong 
though  subtle  resemblance;  both  appeal  directly  to 
the  sense  of  hearing,  which  scientists  tell  us  is  more 
intimately  connected  with  the  nerv'e  centers  of 
emotional  life  than  any  other  of  the  senses.  In 
both  cases  the  immediate  appeal  is  to  the  feelings 
and  the  imagination,  without  recoiu'se  to  intervening 


Counterparts — Poets  and  Musicians       283 

imagery  borrowed  from  external  nature.  Both  em- 
body the  cry  of  one  soul  to  another,  and  they  are  not  ' 
widely  divergent  in  quality  or  effect.  Language  at 
its  highest  is  almost  song,  and  music  at  its  best  is 
idealized  declamation.  All  good  poetry  must  be 
musical.  It  should,  as  we  say,  sing  itself;  and  all 
good  music  must  be  poetical,  conveying  a  distinctly 
poetic  impression. 

To  me  every  poem  presupposes  a  possible  musical 
setting,  and  every  worthy  composition,  a  possible 
poetic  text.  Hence  the  language  used,  in  describing 
music,  must  of  necessity,  so  far  as  the  powers  of  the 
writer  permit,  possess  a  generally  poetic  character. 
In  all  my  thought  and  reading,  along  this  line,  it  has 
seemed  to  me,  not  only  of  extreme  interest,  but  of  great 
practical  value  to  every  musician  and  writer,  to  devote 
careful  study  to  the  analogy  between  these  arts,  to 
the  correspondences  between  artists,  in  these  parallel 
lines  of  work,  and  between  their  special  productions 
in  each,  to  obtain  the  widest  possible  familiarity  with 
both  arts  and  their  mutual  relations,  with  a  view  to 
letting  each  aid  to  a  fuller  elucidation  and  better 
appreciation  of  the  other.  I  have  always  grouped 
together  in  my  mind  Bach  and  Milton,  Beethoven  and 
Shakespeare,  Mozart  and  Spenser,  Schubert  and  Moore, 
Schumann  and  Shelley,  Mendelssohn  and  Longfellow, 
Chopin  and  Tennyson,  Liszt  and  Byron,  Wagner  and 
Victor  Hugo. 

Bach  and  Milton  seem  to  me  to  occupy  corresponding 
niches  in  the  temples  of  music  and  of  verse,  because  of 
the  strong  religious  element  in  the  personality  of  both, 
of  their  severe,  involved,  lengthy,  sonorous,  and  digni- 


284  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

fied  style  of  utterance;  their  mutual  disdain  of  mere 
sentiment  and  softer  graces,  and  their  fondness  for 
works  of  large  dimensions  and  serious  import.  Fur- 
thermore, because  of  the  proneness  of  both  to  religious 
and  churchly  subjects,  and  the  corresponding  position 
which  they  occupy  as  veteran  classics  in  their  respec 
live  arts. 

The  analogy  between  Beethoven  and  Shakespeare  is 
almost  too  obvious  for  remark.  They  are  the  twin 
giants  of  music  and  literature  in  their  colossal  and 
comprehensive  powers,  in  the  breadth  and  universality 
of  their  genius,  and  in  the  verdict  of  absolute  superior- 
ity unanimously  accorded  them  by  all  nations,  all 
schools,  and  all  factions,  both  in  the  profession  and  by 
the  public.  They  are  like  the  pyramids  of  Egypt; 
they  overtop  all  altitudes,  cover  more  area,  and  present 
a  more  enduring  front  to  the  '  'corroding  effects  of  time  " 
than  aught  else  the  world  has  known. 

Mozart  and  Spenser  resemble  each  other  in  their 
quaint  and  classic,  yet  naive  and  sunshiny  style,  their 
abundance,  almost  excess  of  fancy,  and  their  fondness 
for  supernatural,  though  for  the  most  part  non-religious 
and  non-mythological  scenes,  incidents,  and  char- 
acters; also  in  their  habit  of  treating  startling  situa- 
tions and  normally  grievous  catastrophes  without  ex- 
citing any  very  profound  subjective  emotions  in  their 
readers  and  hearers.  Not  that  they  are  flippant  or 
superficial  in  character ;  far  from  it ;  but  with  them  art 
was  somewhat  removed  from  humanity.  With  Spen- 
ser literature  was  not  life,  and  with  Mozart  music  was 
not  emotion.  We  smile  and  are  glad  at  heart  because 
of  them,  but  we  are  not  thrilled;  we  are  pensive  or 


Counterparts — Poets  and  Musicians     285 

reflective,  but  we  rarely  weep  and  are  never  plunged 
into  despair.  There  is  a  moral  lesson,  it  is  true,  in 
the  feats  of  the  knights  and  ladies  in  the  "Faery 
Queen,"  as  also  in  the  vicissitudes  of  that  rather  ad- 
mirable scoundrel,  Don  Juan,  but  it  is  not  biorned  into 
us,  as  by  a  keener  and  cruder  hand.  Those  who  enjoy 
poetry  and  music,  rather  than  feel  it,  love  it,  or  learn 
from  it,  are  always  partial  to  Spenser  and  Mozart. 

No  artistic  afl&nity  is  more  marked  that  that  of  Schu- 
bert and  Moore.  They  are  both  preeminently  song- 
writers. Both  had  a  gift  of  spontaneous,  happy,  grace- 
ful development  of  a  single  thought  in  small  compass. 
Both  are  melodious  beyond  compare,  and  both  wrote 
with  an  ease,  rapidity,  and  versatility  rarely  matched 
in  the  annals  of  their  arts.  Moore  is  the  most  musical 
of  poets,  and  Schubert,  perhaps,  the  most  poetic  of 
musicians.  One  of  Moore's  life-purposes  was  the  col- 
lection of  stray  waifs  of  national  airs  and  furnishing 
them  with  appropriate  words.  Likewise,  one  of  Schu- 
bert's main  services  to  art  was  the  collection  of  brief 
lyric  poems  and  setting  them  to  suitable  melodies. 
Each  reached  over  into  the  sister  art  a  friendly  hand, 
and  each,  unawares,  won  his  chief  fame  thereby. 
Moreover,  though  clinging  by  instinct  and  preference 
to  the  smaller,  simpler,  more  unpretentious  forms, 
each  wrote  one  or  two  lengthy  and  well-developed 
works,  such  as  the  "Lalla  Rookh,"  with  Moore,  and  the 
"Wanderer  Fantaisie,"  with  Schubert,  which  gloriously 
bear  comparison  with  the  masterpieces  of  their  type 
from  the  pens  of  the  ablest  writers  in  the  larger  forms. 

Shelley  has  been  called  the  poet's  poet,  and  Schu- 
mann might  as  aptly  be  termed  the  musician's  com- 


286  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

poser ;  because  the  subtle,  fanciful,  subjective  character 
and  the  metaphysical  tendency  of  the  works  of  both  re- 
quire the  keen  insight  and  the  fertile  imagination  of  the 
artistic  temperament,  to  follow  them  in  all  their  flights 
and  catch  the  full  significance  of  their  suggestions. 
With  both,  the  instinct  for  form  is  weak,  and  the  con- 
structive faculty  almost  wanting.  Ideas  and  figure? 
are  fine,  profound,  and  astute,  but  there  is  a  lack  of 
lucidity,  brevity,  and  force,  as  well  as  of  logical  develop- 
ment, in  their  expression.  A  few  bits  of  melody  by 
Schumann,  such  as  the  "Traumerei,"  and  an  occa- 
sional brief  lyric  by  Shelley,  like  "  The  Skylark,"  have 
become  well-known  and  popular;  but  their  works,  in 
the  main,  are  likely  to  be  the  last  ever  written  to  catch 
the  public  ear.  They  appeal  the  more  strongly  to  the 
inner  circle  of  initiates  who  are  familiar  spirits  in  the 
mystical  realm,  whose  language  they  speak.  Where 
Shelley  is  the  favorite  poet,  and  Schumann  the  favorite 
composer,  an  unusually  active  fancy  and  subtle  intel- 
lect are  sure  to  be  found. 

Mendelssohn  and  Longfellow  are  alike  in  almost 
every  feature.  Both  are  in  temperament  objective  and 
optimistic.  Both  are  graceful,  fluent,  melodious,  tender^ 
and  thoughtful,  without  being  ever  strongly  impas- 
sioned or  really  dramatic.  Both  display  superior  and 
well-disciplined  powers,  nobility  of  sentiment,  and  ease 
and  grace  of  manner.  Perfect  gentlemen  and  polished 
scholars,  both  avoid  all  radical  and  reformatory-  ten- 
dencies, to  such  an  extent  as  to  lend  a  shade  of  con- 
ventionality to  their  artistic  personality,  as  compared 
with  the  extreme  romanticists  of  their  day.  Both  have 
reached  the  public  ear  and  heart  as  no  other  talent  of 


Counterparts — Poets  and   Musicians     287 

equal  magnitude  has  ever  done.  Many  of  the  ballads, 
narrative  poems,  and  shorter  pieces  by  Longfellow, 
and  the  "Songs  Without  Words,"  by  Mendelssohn, 
have  become  so  familiar  as  to  be  almost  hackneyed, 
even  with  the  non-poetic  and  non-musical  populace. 

Chopin  is  beyond  dispute  the  Tennyson  of  the  piano- 
forte. The  same  depth,  warmth,  and  delicacy  of  feeling 
vitalizing  every  line,  the  same  polish,  fineness  of  detail, 
and  symmetry  of  form,  the  same  exquisitely  refined, 
yet  by  no  means  effeminate,  temperament  are  seen  in 
both.  Each  shows  us  fervent  passion,  beyond  the  ken 
of  common  men,  without  a  touch  of  brutality ;  intense 
and  vehement  emotion,  with  never  a  hint  of  violence 
in  its  betrayal,  expressed  in  dainty  rhythmic  numbers 
as  polished  and  symmetrical  as  if  that  symmetry  and 
polish  were  their  only  raison  d'etre.  This  similar  trait 
leads  often  to  a  similar  mistake  in  regard  to  both. 
Superficial  observers,  fixing  their  attention  on  the  pre- 
eminent delicacy,  tenderness,  elegance,  and  grace  of 
their  manner  and  matter,  regard  them  as  exponents  of 
these  qualities  merely,  and  deny  them  broader,  stronger, 
sterner  characteristics.  Never  was  a  grosser  wrong 
done  true  artists.  No  poet  and  no  composer  is  more 
profound,  passionate,  and  intense  than  Tennyson  and 
Chopin,  and  none  so  rarely  pens  a  line  that  is  devoid  of 
genuine  feeling  as  its  legitimate  origin.  But  the  artist 
in  each  stood  with  quiet  finger  on  the  riotous  pulses  of 
emotion,  and  forbade  all  utterance  that  was  crude, 
chaotic,  or  uncouth.  Both  had  the  heart  of  fire  and 
tongue  of  gold.  Tennyson  wrote  the  model  lyrics  of 
his  language  and  Chopin  the  model  lyrics  of  his  instru- 
ment, for  all  posterity.     Edgar  Poe  said  of  Tennyson: 


288   Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

"I  call  him  and  think  him  the  noblest  of  poets,  because 
the  excitement  which  he  induces  is  at  all  times  the  most 
ethereal,  the  most  elevating,  and  the  most  pure.  No 
poet  is  so  little  of  the  earth,  earthy."  The  same  words 
might  well  be  spoken  of  Chopin. 

Liszt  and  Byron  were  kindred  spirits,  both  as  men 
and  artists.  Among  the  serener  stars  and  planets  that 
move  majestically  in  harmony  with  heaven's  first  law, 
to  the  music  of  the  spheres,  they  were  like  meteors 
or  comets,  appearing  above  the  horizon  with  dazzling 
brilliance,  and  darting  to  the  zenith,  through  an  erratic 
career,  reaching  a  summit  of  fame  and  popularity, 
attained  during  his  lifetime  by  no  other  poet  or 
musician,  and  setting  at  defiance  all  laws  of  art,  of 
society,  and  of  morals.  Brilliancy  of  style  and  char- 
acter, haughty  independence,  impetuous  passion,  a 
matchless  splendor  of  genius,  a  supreme  contempt  for 
the  weaknesses  of  lesser  mortals,  combined  with  the 
warmest  admiration  for  their  peers,  are  the  distinguish- 
ing attributes  of  both.  Byron's  devoted  friendship 
for  Moore  and  Shelley  corresponds  exactly  to  Liszt's 
feeling  for  Chopin  and  Wagner.  Liszt  himself  recog- 
nized this  affinity  between  himself  and  Byron.  The 
English  poet  was  for  many  years  his  model  and  favorite 
author;  many  of  his  scenes  and  poems  he  translated 
into  tones,  and  his  influence  is  marked  in  most  of 
his  earlier  compositions.  The  works  of  both  are  re- 
markable for  a  fire  and  fury  almost  demoniac,  alternat- 
ing with  a  light  and  flippant  grace,  almost  impish.  Both 
understood  a  climax  as  few  others  have  done,  and  both 
had  the  dramatic  element  strongly  developed.  Both 
were  lawless  and  dissolute,  according  to  the  world's  ver- 


Counterparts — Poets  and  Musicians     289 

diet,  yet  scrupulous  and  refined  to  an  extreme  in  certain 
respects.  Each  scandalized  the  world,  repaid  its  cen- 
sure with  scorn,  and  saw  it  at  his  feet;  and  each  left, 
like  a  meteor,  a  track  of  fire  behind  him,  which  still 
burns  with  a  red  and  vivid,  if  not  the  purest,  luster. 

Wagner  and  Victor  Hugo  are  the  two  Titans  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  having  created  more  stir  and  fer- 
ment in  the  world  of  art  and  letters  than  any  other  writ- 
ers, contemporary  or  previous.  Each  is  the  leading 
genius  of  his  nation.  They  resemble  each  other  in  the 
pronounced  originality  of  their  genius,  their  virile  energy 
and  productivity,  and  their  colossal  force.  Of  both, 
the  rare  and  singular  fact  is  true,  that  their  productions 
all  attain  about  the  same  level  of  merit.  Most  authors 
and  most  composers  are  known  by  one  or  a  few  sublime 
creations.  I  know  of  no  others  who  have  written  an 
equal  number  of  great  works  and  none  that  are  medi- 
ocre or  feeble.  They  are  also  alike  in  the  circum- 
stance that  while  each  has  done  fine  work  in  a  number 
of  other  departments,  it  is  the  dramatic  element  which 
forms  the  strongest  feature  of  their  artistic  personality. 
Few  French  novels  can  compare  with  those  of  Victor 
Hugo ;  but  it  is  the  powers  of  the  dramatist  displayed 
in  the  plot,  striking  situations  and  characters,  which 
constitute  their  chief  merit ;  and  in  his  writings  for  the 
stage  he  has  far  surpassea  all  that  he  has  done  as 
novelist.  Likewise,  while  Wagner's  orchestral  works 
for  the  concert  room  would  alone  have  made  him  a 
reputation,  it  is  by  his  operas  that  he  has  made  the 
world  ring  with  his  fame.  Each  had  a  sense  of  the 
dramatic  and  a  mastery  of  its  effects  not  even  ap- 
proached by  any  other  artist.  They  bear,  further- 
19 


290  Descriptive  Analyses  of  Piano  Works 

more,  a  strong  resemblance  in  their  revolutionary 
character  and  tendencies.  Both  were  born  pioneers, 
innovators,  reformers.  Both  headed  a  revolt  against 
the  reigning  sovereigns  and  the  established  govern- 
ment of  their  respective  arts  and  after  a  desperate 
struggle  came  out  victorious.  Both  have  been  followed 
by  a  host  of  disciples,  belligerent  and  radical  beyond  all 
that  the  annals  of  music  and  literature  can  show.  They 
were  like  two  powerful  battering-rams,  attacking  the 
bulwarks  of  classic  prejudice  and  conventionality.  The 
revolution  which  Wagner  brought  about  in  opera  was 
exactly  matched  by  Hugo  with  the  drama.  His  ' '  Her- 
nani"  was  as  great  a  shock  to  the  established  pre- 
cedents of  the  stage,  as  was  Wagner's  "Nibelungen." 
Lastly,  both  display  the  unusual  phenomenon  of  re- 
taining their  creative  power  into  extreme  old  age,  and 
both  died  when  life  and  art  and  fame  were  fully  ripe, 
with  the  eyes  of  the  world  upon  them  and  their  names 
on  every  tongue. 


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